


A Slip of the Finger

by Katzedecimal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, Domestic Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied Drug Use, Lots of Angst, Self Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, depression attacks, emotional & psychological abuse, have I mentioned the angst?, suicide attacks, youth homelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 62,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Sherlock receives a wrong number text, at a time when he <i>really</i> needs a distraction.  Little does he know that the person who texted him will impact his life more than he could imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pawtal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawtal/gifts).
  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [A Slip of the Finger - Português Brasileiro](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536074) by [Jun00IX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jun00IX/pseuds/Jun00IX)



> Pawtal put so many little hints into _A Finger Slip_ that there was a lot going on behind the scenes. The texts have the ring of being the port in the storm that was enabling the boys to cope with what else was going on in their lives. That gave me plotbunnies soooo here they are. 
> 
> These have been previewed and approved by Pawtal herself. There **will** be angst and eventually, there will be trigger warnings.
> 
> Now, [translated to German](http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/52445d73000318baeacd3a0/1/A-slip-of-the-finger) by [NellHatetheHat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nellhatethehat) Danke!!

October 19

**John**

Well that was weird. John chuckled as he put his phone back in his pocket. Oh he didn't blame the bloke for being put out; John'd had more than a few annoying telemarketers ring his mobile, after all. Seemed like the bloke was having a bad day all around, really. Petri dishes? A science student, perhaps? Until Something Happened, anyways. Man, that must suck. Poor fellow. Wonder how long ago it was? If it was recent, that'd account for him being prickly. Poor bloke. Hope it works out for him. Hope he gets his petri dishes. 

He pulled his mobile out again. He'd texted Katy shortly after his wrong number. She still hadn't replied. 

**Sherlock**

_What a foolish git, he thought. And now he was out of petri dishes._

 

October 20

**John**

**Not** what he'd needed. The party was dragging on and mostly leaving John behind. He'd gone to the loo then come back to hear his mates laughing and drawling a name and oh my god they'd lifted his phone from where he'd left his jacket, and were going through his text messages! "Give it here, you arses," he'd snarled, snatching the mobile back and was mortified to see that they'd actually **texted** his wrong-number bloke! At half one in the morning! If the bloke was stroppy before, he'd be doubly so now. He'd dashed off a quick apology and was unsurprised when the quality of his friends was called into question. Frankly after that stunt, John was starting to question them himself. And Katy, who still hadn't so much as looked in his direction since they arrived. Or brought him a beer. Alright, there was no need to go there, he thought, sneering at his mobile. He was about to turn it off when he saw Katy's hand come up and touch Abbie's arm and the bottom dropped out of John's world. He stared at his mobile again and whispered "How did you know?"

**Sherlock**

_Well, that's four affairs outed. Too bad the text hadn't happened a few hours earlier, he might have matched his old record for most affairs outed in a 24-hour period. Mind you, he wasn't sure whether he should count Daddy as one affair or two. In any case, the ensuing row had been loud, unpleasant, and blamed on him, as usual. Of course it was. It's not like he was even the one cheating! But it was all his fault anyhow, because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut about it like a good little boy. Like Mycroft. Yes, somehow being "good" meant to let Mummy dwell in blissful ignorance of the fact that Daddy couldn't keep it in his pants and was exposing her to all kinds of sexually transmitted diseases because God forbid he ever used a condom!_

_And he'd used one of his best insults on that texting idiot and he'd just laughed, like he thought it was the best joke he'd heard all day. Come to that, it probably was, given the even lower quality of idiots he was apparently hanging around with. People made no sense at all._

 

October 22

**John**

He hadn't heard from Katy much since the party. She'd texted him all of once and he was beginning to think the stroppy text git was right. The stroppy text git was really the highlight of John's evening, really. ....Which said a lot right there. Ugh. He looked at the array of cafeteria sandwiches and sighed. He wished he could afford a hot meal but..... He also wished he had some company but ever since he entered medicine, his friends had been... not so good. God, stealing a bloke's mobile and then texting a total stranger in the middle of the night! He still felt bad about that; that Sherlock fellow must think him a total idiot. Although he'd said practically everyone was an idiot so at least John was in good company. ...Metaphorically, anyhow. Maybe he could make it up to him somehow. He pulled out his mobile and dithered for a bit, wondering what to say. Then he dashed off something quick and silly. The resulting conversation was entertaining, to say the least, and John found himself smiling. The bloke was still stroppy and definitely posh but he seemed a little less guarded now. He liked classic literature, John got that much off of it, and he was definitely some kind of science student before Whatever Happened. It was short, not exactly sweet but definitely interesting, and John felt much better afterwards. He went to class whistling. 

**Sherlock**

_What kind of moron needed guidance about **sandwich fillings?** People made no sense at all. And this was a medical student. Congratulations, England, there's the future of your health care, right there, needing to ask a perfect stranger about what to feed his face with. Ludicrous! Sherlock resolved never to need medical attention again, if that was what was going into the field. Mind you, he was familiar with "Catcher in the Rye", which was more than could be said for just about anyone else Sherlock was aware of who didn't reside within the Holmes household. And then stupid Greg being stupid with his stupid insinuations, which was just stupid. _

_Honestly. Why was everyone so stupid?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has family problems and trouble concentrating on school. Sherlock has a depression attack and a hedgehog living in his mobile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for underage drinking, implied drug use, and depression attacks. Yes those are a thing.

October 26

**Sherlock**

_'Oh I just like talking to you', yes as long as you don't have your cheating girlfriend or your liquor-besotted friends in the vicinity. As if anybody ever **likes** talking to me. Shouldn't have said anything. The next time he texts, I won't respond._

**John**

Well, so much for the idea of inviting Sherlock to come along to the pub-crawl. Not that John really expected him to go for it but you never knew. But, not a party person, not a people person. Kinda not surprised by that, really. Well that's fine, not everyone is a people person. What would we be like if we were all alike? 

 

October 27 

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock stared at his phone, aghast. **I** started it?! he thought, **I** started it?! You were the one who texted the wrong number, it was your idiotic friends who texted me at half-one in the morning, it's been you texting me every time, but somehow correcting your grammar makes it **my** fault?! How does that even work? I'm not the one who texted the wrong number, I'm not the one cheating on Mummy, I'm not the one who blackmailed the dean, but somehow **everything** is **fucking MY FAULT!!** _

_The phone crashed against the wall and got lost in a pile of laundry. He paced in circles a few times then flung himself onto the bed, tearing at his hair. Eventually he fell quiet. Then he fished around behind the bed for the case duct-taped to the back of the headboard._

 

October 30

**John**

Should not have had so much to drink last night. Taking a class while being hungover was not on the list of Smart Things To Do. These benders were starting to become worrying and they definitely weren't helping his grades. He sipped his tea and gave thanks that his headache had come down to a dull roar. 

He glanced up as Katy walked by then immediately looked away. She was looking at Abbie. John watched her then felt his lips press themselves into a thin line and thought about what Sherlock had texted. He shook his head and went to the cafeteria to choose his daily sandwich. Sherlock hadn't answered any of his texts since Saturday night. He wondered if the bloke had finally had enough and stopped responding. He wondered if he'd said something wrong. Mostly, he wondered if the bloke was alright. 

As it turned out, he wasn't. 

**Sherlock**

_'I can't un-know you.' Sherlock stared at the words on his mobile screen, blurred by his swelling eye. 'I can't un-know you.' It didn't make sense and yet immediately Sherlock had known what John meant. 'I can't un-know you.'_

_He scrolled back to something else John had said. 'If you can't talk to the annoying guy who lives in your phone, who can you talk to?' John didn't know him. All John knew was his acerbic replies and somehow he still kept wanting to text him. For whatever reason, he wasn't put off. 'If you can't talk to the annoying guy who lives in your phone, who can you talk to?' John didn't know him. John didn't know his habits, didn't know his vices, any of his likes or dislikes. He didn't know any of the stories or any of the rumours. He didn't know anything about Sherlock at all. He couldn't judge Sherlock._

_But he would. Someday, it would come, which is why it was a stupid idea even to entertain the notion of talking to the annoying bloke in his phone. Where did he even get such a silly idea? That they lived in each other's mobiles, like they were tiny little leprechauns or something? How foolish. Sherlock knew he could never live inside a mobile phone; he was too tall, he'd bonk his head. It was silly. John was silly._

 

November 1

**John**

Between Harry and Katy, it was hard to concentrate on class. Harry was definitely becoming a problem. She swore up and down she hadn't been drinking but John could smell the alcohol sweating from her pores. He hoped that was all that was in her system. Harriet was irresponsible and seldom thought further than two minutes ahead. Mum had tried to talk to her about the dangers she was exposing herself to and Dad had threatened to have her arrested for underage drinking. Harry had screamed and ranted and gone to sleep it off and John had collapsed in his bed for the two hours that remained before he had to get up for class. 

He was also worrying about Sherlock and feeling guilty over what he'd said. Shouldn't have called him an arse, that was wrong. Anybody would be in a foul mood after being beaten up, and then his family giving him shit besides? He wondered why. It didn't sound like Sherlock had a very good relationship with his family. And he wasn't a people person.... John started to wonder whether the bloke had any support, if he had anyone to turn to. He took out his mobile and looked back through the messages. 

'If I'm such an arse, why do you keep texting me?' -- that had the ring of a long-standing complaint, now he thought about it. Maybe a lot of people think he's an arse. Probably; he was posh and used big words. Heh, that was a complaint Katy had flung at John, she'd told him to stop using big words. He was studying for medicine, fer chrissakes! Big words went with the territory! Come to that, a couple of his friends had been making the same complaint. His friends wouldn't take kindly to someone like Sherlock. Posh, sciencey, not a people person, used much bigger words than John did... They'd probably see him as one of those geeky kids they'd tried to beat up in school. 

The thought made John uncomfortable. He hadn't liked it then, people singling out the nerdy blokes because they were smart and learned things quickly and knew things and weren't people people and didn't do things the way that other people did them. Yeah, the more he thought about it, the more Sherlock struck him as probably that kind of person. He'd known people like that in school and they tended to become withdrawn. They tended to become stand-offish out of self-defence, brittle out of apprehension, their trust broken too many times. Kind of like Sherlock. And John had called him names. Ugh, now he felt nauseated, literally feeling sick with guilt. The bloke had been beaten up, his family were no help and what had John done? - offered to be a friendly ear then shot it by calling him names. Ugh. He had to make it up to him somehow.

**Sherlock**

_'I'm not one of those people who punches people in the face because they're a little different.' For the second time in a 24-hour period, Sherlock stared at his mobile long after the conversation had ended. Three times in one 24-hour period, John had said something remarkable, something **different.** He'd texted Sherlock to apologise, which was a first in itself. People didn't apologise to Sherlock. **Nobody** apologised to Sherlock. Sherlock was the one expected to apologise, even though it wasn't he who was cheating, downloading illegal porn, spreading malware, sleeping with the teachers and so on and so forth. It was ridiculous. He was **used** to people calling him an arse, so why was John apologising for it? Why didn't it **bother** John? He didn't understand and he was too exhausted and in too much pain to try._

**John**

John stared at his mobile long after the conversation had ended. 'Why doesn't it bother you? It bothered people at my school.' Why didn't it bother him that Sherlock wasn't a people person? He didn't know, it just didn't. Not everybody was. Some people were people people and some were lone wolves; that's just how it was. Why didn't it bother him that Sherlock was hostile and a bit obnoxious? He didn't know that either, it just didn't. His insults were clever, for one thing; he was entertaining that way. It was plain that Sherlock thought of everyone as an idiot, so it wasn't anything John had or hadn't done, other than exist. He didn't really know **why** he liked the obnoxious bloke who lived in his phone. He just did. 

In the morning, John did another crash study session then dragged himself to class. He was tired and having trouble concentrating. He was hurt about Katy, hurt and upset. She'd said some nasty things at the end of it and some of her accusations were things he couldn't change, but some were things he **wouldn't** change. But he knew about cheaters, they usually cheated again. She'd cheat on Abbie too, he was sure of it. He consoled himself with that. 

He was worrying about Harry. He was certain that wasn't the first time she'd been drinking. He drank a little too, when he was underage; every kid did that, didn't they? Tested the waters, dabbled in the forbidden fruit of the vine? Heh, where did that come from? That was poetic, that was. Sounded almost like Sherlock for a moment there. The thought made him grin to himself.

He was worried about Sherlock too. Who beat him up and why? Was it something to do with Whatever Happened at college? Then he thought about how his parents had yelled and threatened at Harry and something fizzled in the back of his mind; had something similar happened with Sherlock? Is that what "his parents giving him shit" had meant? I bet that's what it was, John thought, I bet he did something silly and they jumped on his case out of concern for him. 

After classes, his mates invited him 'round the pub again but he declined. He needed to study, his grades weren't going to pull up by themselves. Then he'd made the mistake of mentioning the effects of too much liquor on the liver. They'd sneered and called him a buzzkill then left him to his homework like it was something only losers did. 

**Sherlock**

_It still amazed Sherlock that his parents still thought that putting him under house arrest was a punishment to him. Frankly, even **Mycroft** was baffled by that, he being as much of a loner and not-a-people-person as Sherlock was. Locking him in his room with nothing to do wasn't much of a deterrent either: He lay on his bed, his supper untouched, fingers tented beneath his chin as he tried to puzzle out the missing Wainwright child case. The police were convinced it was an abduction but he was **pretty** sure the child had just wandered off somewhere. _

_He was getting nowhere fast, so when his mobile chirped a text alert, he wasn't terribly annoyed by it. He was more annoyed by John's idea of a conversation opener, however. Why on earth would he care about his brother? It was ridiculous. The conversation was easy enough to steer away from it though. John really was dull._

_Until he described his girlfriend pressuring him to dress up as a hedgehog and the resulting mental image stalled Sherlock's brain. "You're probably going to envision me as a hedgehog from now on, oh God," John had said, and he really **had!** He had this horrible image of this silly hedgehog tapping on a mobile and eating a sandwich. _

_And despite himself, he'd started to grin. "I may as well be talking to a hedgehog," he'd texted back. John the magic texting hedgehog, who lived in his mobile phone. He realised he was giggling and tried to stifle it before anybody heard him._

_He realised he was giggling. He hadn't giggled in years._

_Come to that, he hadn't smiled much either._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're still pretending that there are fireworks in Regents Park.

November 3

**Sherlock**

_Well **that** was paying off -- further proof that his parents were idiots. It's the 21st Century! Idiots. He turned away from his computer with a smirk. He'd show them; idiots, all of them. So he was in a relatively good mood when his text chime rang and he had an instant mental image of a hedgehog with a sandwich. The conversation had been predictably boring and gone into boring and slightly uncomfortable areas, until John had said something that Sherlock really hadn't been expecting. _

_'Good'?, he thought, Who follows 'So you're single like me' with 'good'? Then his stomach dropped and flipped. **Oh!** He couldn't... John didn't mean... **Surely** he didn't mean it like that? **Nobody** was interested in Sherlock that way! They hadn't even met! ...and if things kept on this way, they weren't likely to, either._

_Then John became flustered (flustered hedgehog!) and changed the subject and the conversation veered until John's deliberate provocation of aggressive violin playing derailed Sherlock's annoyance and sent him giggling again._

_"What are you laughing at?" Mycroft asked suspiciously._

_**Blast!** Why couldn't the fat snoopy git just mind his own business for once? "Nothing," Sherlock replied, shoving his mobile away and casually closing his laptop, surreptitiously thumbing the hotkey he'd programmed to close his browser tabs and flip up a laboratory supplies site. _

_Too casually; Mycroft's eyes narrowed even further. "What are you doing?"_

_"Nothing!"_

_"Then what were you looking up?"_

_"No! Thing!"_

_"Then you won't mind showing me."_

_Sherlock grumbled and opened his laptop again, He turned the monitor to show an innocent page of Erlenmeyer flasks and petri dishes. "Satisfied?" Mycroft gave him another suspicious glare but sniffed and turned away._

_Later, he learned that Mycroft had told their parents that Sherlock was acting oddly again. The ensuing row was utterly ridiculous and left him exhausted, furious and desperately craving relief._

_But when he saw John's final texts, he couldn't help but smile._

 

November 4

**Greg**

Mycroft had told him that he'd walked in to find Sherlock staring at his mobile and chuckling and it was all Greg could do to keep a straight face. He knew immediately what must have happened but it wouldn't do to tell Mycroft. That would violate confidentiality, not to mention Sherlock's trust. Nevertheless he'd peeked at Sherlock's phone, just to reassure himself. Whomever this 'John' fellow was, if he could make Sherlock laugh, Greg was all for him.

November 5

**Sherlock**

_He'd spent part of the afternoon baiting John. Of **course** he knew who Guy Fawkes was, he just didn't care. But it was fun stringing John along. The bloke had swallowed it too, hook line and sinker. _

_He wasn't having any fun now though. They were arguing again. Daddy was **still** trying to convince Mummy there was nothing going on between him and Darlene (just like there was nothing going on with Moira or Angela or Tiffany or Ellen), still telling her that Sherlock was imagining things and making up stories. Mummy, having half a brain cell, didn't buy it for a pound, but she bought enough of it for a penny to make things problematic. Ugh. _

_He needed a breath of fresh air, but since this was London, he'd just have to settle for air that was outside. He hadn't intended on ending up at Regent's Park - too many people, loud banging firecrackers, weird smells from chestnuts, cider and too many people. When his text alert chimed, he couldn't help but smile, then he realised that John was somewhere in this crowd. He felt a little less alone, after that._

November 11

**Sherlock**

_His experiments were all in various wait-states and his application was being processed, which meant that Sherlock had absolutely nothing to do. He didn't even have Mycroft around to fight with, not that he wanted to anyways. He always lost; the great insufferable git would smarm and cut him off and block his every argument until Sherlock's words collapsed and he shut down. Mycroft thought that meant he'd won. He wasn't winning today; Sherlock had been avoiding him ever since that last ridiculous row. Imagine, getting in trouble for **laughing!** Stupid, stupid, stupid. People made no sense at all. _

_Now he was bored. He hated being bored. Thank goodness Mummy was out with her 'ladies who lunch' crowd of vacuum-brained society friends, otherwise she'd be pestering him to come "be sociable." He glanced at the time then glanced at his mobile. Ordinary people turned to friends when they were bored and John the Magic Texting Hedgehog kept insisting that's what they were... He picked up his phone, not expecting that a hedgehog would have anything useful to offer._

_He was wrong._

**John**

John traced the highlighter along yet another line of text. He was trying to study and was fighting a growing sense of futility. His grades were still slipping and he was really starting to feel the pressure. His parents had been talking in hushed tones as well and that was never good. Something was up, he was sure of it. Maybe it was about Harry? Or maybe it was about... 

He shook his head and tried to focus his mind again. He had another paper coming up before the Christmas exams and he had a lot of text and lecture notes to re-read. When his mobile chimed, he almost ignored it. 

He was glad he didn't. When he first read Sherlock's complaint, he was mildly annoyed, but quickly realised he had an opportunity to do something nice for Sherlock. How could a man be English and never have had a cup of tea?! He couldn't spare the time to meet the bloke at Speedy's himself, plus he was pretty sure that Sherlock would be against the idea - a suspicion that was more or less confirmed by Sherlock's reluctance. Well that was fine - if John was clever, he could do something nice for him and still respect his not-a-people-person preferences, while getting his studying done. He made the arrangements with Molly, feeling giddy with excitement. 

Afterwards, he realised that it was the first time that Sherlock had texted **him.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of tea and troublesome siblings.

November 19

**Sherlock**

_Everyone seemed to think it strange that an English household would have a lack of tea but Sherlock was used to people thinking the Holmes family was strange. All of them were strange and he was the strangest of the lot. The tea at Speedy's had proven to be inadequate but acceptable enough to warrant further investigation, so he had set out to locate some more._

_Now he stood in front of the tea shelves at Tesco, surprised and slightly bewildered by the variety of teas. Not merely brands but **varieties.** Green tea? Oolong tea? And what was chai tea? He pulled down packets and read the labels, noting differences in recommended times and temperatures and... _

_And his mouth spread into a grin. John had proven his worth after all._

**John**

John had been studying so much, his brains felt like they were leaking out of his ears. Oddly, it felt like he was having **more** trouble concentrating on his lectures, rather than less. It wasn't doing much for his morale, that's for sure. His stomach growled and he glanced up at the clock then closed his books. Time for lunch. None of his friends were about so he'd be dining alone again. He thought about texting Sherlock. He'd looked up Bach's _Chaconne_ on YouTube then spent an enlightening hour browsing from piece to piece and different composers. Classical music turned out to be a lot more varied than he'd thought and he wanted to find out more about it. His friends definitely wouldn't understand his interest, but Sherlock surely would. It seemed fair, really - he'd treated Sherlock to his first cuppa and Sherlock had introduced him to his first Bach. Nice. 

The text he got back **wasn't** nice. 

At first he'd thought Sherlock's phone had been stolen but then, no, the mystery inquisitor turned out to be the brother he'd complained about. John grinned; he was an older brother himself and he had a difficult little sister. For a moment he felt a bond of kinship and sympathy for this 'Mycroft' fellow, although his 'I know what's best' statement rankled at John's diplomatic peacemaker personality. 

Then John nearly dropped his sandwich. He stared at his mobile for over five minutes, unable to parse what he was seeing. Did this bloke really just... Did he **actually** expect John to.... John was a big brother of a difficult little sister and **he** would never think to demand that someone... He didn't **really**... 

He did. And then he offered to pay John to do it, and John did drop his sandwich. "You're flipping mental," he'd typed back, reeling from the shock. The reply came back as _"Unfortunately, he has never been willing to open up to me,"_ and John thought, Gosh I wonder why not! 

Sherlock... didn't like spending time with his family, didn't like his older brother (Gosh, I wonder why not!), wanted desperately to leave home and had referred to a family dinner as 'family insult-Sherlock night'. If **this** was how he was treated, John felt a pang of sympathy for him. This was bloody unreal! Who took 'big brother' to such Orwellian extremes? (Ha - take that, classics. Wonder what Sherlock thought of _1984_? Probably deemed it for idiots.)

He checked his watch. He had to get to class. 

 

November 20

**John**

John was filing into the hall and was heading off for lunch when his text chime went off. He pulled out his mobile and a delighted smile spread across his face when he saw that it was from Sherlock. 

The ensuing conversation was hilarious. The bloke was going on and on about experimenting with **tea** of all things, and it was just brilliant. He thought green tea tasted best between 60 - 80 degrees Celcius; now John would have to try that. How? - did he stick a thermometer in the teacup? He probably did. The thought made John laugh as he ate his sandwich. Some of his biology classmates got really enthusiastic and they could get excited and chattery; looked like Sherlock was doing the texting equivalent. He 'sounded' really happy about it. John felt a warm fuzzy feeling at the thought that he'd been able to cheer Sherlock up a bit. If the exchange John had had with Sherlock's brother was anything to go by, it'd seem he didn't get a lot of that. Oh right, I should tell him about that, John thought, then watched another text arrive. Maybe not right now, he thought, He seems happy. He texted me to tell me about something that's making him happy. Best not to harsh his buzz then. 

"Hey John!"

John looked up, "Oh hi Norm!" He smiled. Norm was in the second year of his chosen specialty of psychology. Norm was really nice, about the most accepting person John had ever met, and he really looked up to the bloke. If he could be more like anyone, he'd be more like Norm. 

 

November 22

**John**

Harry was home. His parents had gone out and they'd found her, right where Sherlock said she would be, and they'd brought her home. And then they'd hollared and ranted and Mummy had cried about grandchildren and Daddy had ranted about the Bible until John had enough and screamed that if they were so determined to drive Harry away again, he'd take her off himself. That had shut them up, **finally.**

He'd gathered his senses and said he'd look into student services at college, see what they had for LGBT support. It was a place to start, anyways. They'd know where to direct them for further support. Then he'd thought about Mycroft and had a long talk with Harry, alone. Then he'd collapsed on his bed, exhausted. 

He'd lost an entire evening of study time, he was hungry, and he was too tired to eat, too tired to care about anything other than closing his eyes and succumbing to fatigue. But there was one last thing he had to do. 

 

November 23

**John**

John hadn't gone to class and he was relieved that his teachers had accepted his explanation. He'd spent the day in student services, talking to the counsellors and getting pamphlets and information. And he'd talked to Norm. There was one more person he had to talk to and it made him the most nervous. Finally, he pressed the call button. 

Molly had said the voice was deep -- it wasn't nearly warning enough. The voice that answered was rich and low and rumbly. It sounded hesitant and apprehensive. It sounded almost as nervous as John felt. When John told him he was amazing and thanked him for being so stubborn, it sounded bewildered, as if he didn't know what to make of it or how to respond. 

John rang off, then sent up a silent prayer, thanking whomever was listening for misdialing his phone. 

 

November 24

**Greg**

Sherlock had been so bewildered. He really and truly didn't understand why this John fellow seemed to like him so much. It was all Greg could do not to laugh. People just didn't take to Sherlock and after a while, Sherlock had developed barbs to keep people from trying. 

The problem was that Sherlock was a keen observer and most people weren't. They were unaware of their own body language, their facial expressions, their habits and tells, and Sherlock was a fluent reader in this language. They thought of it as he was exposing their secrets; he thought of it as they were shouting them themselves, he was just reading what was there for all to see. He'd compared it to Facebook privacy settings once and Greg had laughed and laughed and laughed. 

The other problem was that Sherlock didn't like to see people being hurt by other people's lies. In his world, if people were going to be hurt, it was kinder to do it by the quick surgical slice of outing the lie than to stand by and watch them be dragged over the gravel and shredded apart. Some days, Greg could see his point. Most people didn't, **especially** his family. 

Greg had known Sherlock for a while now and Sherlock was more sensitive than people realised. He kept it hidden under a hard mask, though, and defended himself with arrogant barbs. As a child, he'd been taught to value truth and honesty and as he grew, he saw the lies for what they were. He saw the world in practice was opposite to how he was told it was to be and he'd never quite been able to reconcile the gap. Then school brought bullying and he'd learned that the truth was a weapon he could use for self-defence. 

Then, with a wrong number, this John fellow had circumvented all of Sherlock's defences and landed a strike at the core of him, nailed him right in his love of experimenting and Sherlock just didn't know what to do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's December! Ho ho ho my god...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The avalanche is starting to pick up speed.

December 1

**Sherlock**

_The thought of having a hedgehog in my bed is deeply disturbing, Sherlock thought. Also hilarious. He was torn between giggling and clawing his eyes out at his brain's insistent images of hedgehog zoophilia._

 

December 4

**John**

John got the news on Sunday evening. His instincts had been right, something **was** going on. He and Harry were old enough to understand and they'd spent most of Monday discussing ways to have a 'homemade' Christmas. Paying for Christmas was really the last thing they should be worrying about. 

Paying for medical school, on the other hand.... 

John had hoped that texting his cyber buddy would take his mind off his worrying but it had backfired. 

 

December 12

**Sherlock**

_He'd bought a **dictionary** , to please someone he'd never met and likely never would meet, purely to amuse him, someone he had no reason to amuse or care about in any way. If that wasn't the definition of illogic, Sherlock didn't know what was. John just made no sense to him at all. _

_He knew it was John's way of apologising for upsetting him the other day and that made no sense either. People didn't apologise to Sherlock and definitely not in ways that did make him feel like forgiving them. John didn't know. John had a happy cosy family where the worst thing that happened was his lesbian sister's underage drinking._

 

**John**

John had felt giddy when he uploaded the picture of the dictionary, delighted by Sherlock's reaction. And he'd said "I'm becoming invested in you", which John was pretty sure meant that he liked John. That made him feel good because lately, things hadn't been so good with his other friends. John could sense it, they were growing apart. John wasn't going 'round the pubs as much, now he was becoming aware of the long term effects of alcoholic binges on the organs of elimination. He couldn't afford it anyways, nor could he spare the time away from studying. 

Sherlock's crack about John's memory had been a dead hit, making John wince. His grades weren't doing so well and he was getting really anxious about the upcoming exams. It was enough to be worrying about how to pay for medical school but if he flunked out.....

The thought made him nauseated and he took a deep breath. Better get cracking the books. Again.

 

December 16

**John**

They got the news Friday night. Cutting back Daddy's hours hadn't been enough; they'd laid him off. His parents had sworn up and down that every available cent would go to send John to medical school but... John felt horribly responsible, burdened by the knowledge. 

And he was failing. His family were counting on him, putting everything into helping him realise his dream of becoming a doctor and he was failing. He was failing his courses, failing his family and failing himself. His friends were no help at all. Every time he wanted to talk about his worries, their answer was to take him out for drinks. "Take your mind off it for a while," they said. Well, except for Mike; Mike understood but he had no help to offer. He was failing his courses, he couldn't keep a girlfriend, his family was still having rows over Harry's coming out... He was failing at life. 

He realised he was staring out the window just a little too long. 

The usual advice at a time like this was to talk to a friend but who could he talk to? His friends' only answer was to get him drunk. And what would he say? Who would be up at this hour to listen? He turned away from the window and his eyes fell on his mobile. 

Who indeed?

He hadn't expected Sherlock to be amenable to talking voice. The bloke had coaxed John's reasons out of him and he'd felt so pathetic... Any of his friends would have laughed at him - needing to hear a voice talking about anything. Stupid. Silly. Sherlock hadn't laughed. Instead he'd... talked about anything, in his lovely low soothing voice. As if he understood.

For the second time, John gave thanks that he had dialed the wrong number that day.

**Sherlock**

_He clicked the phone off. He knew what it meant when **he** needed to just hear a voice talking about anything, and the thought of John in that much pain was distressing to Sherlock. So he'd obliged, even though he wasn't very good at it and didn't know what to talk about. _

_He found himself talking about things he wouldn't ordinarily have shared but he'd felt surprisingly comfortable and the secret words slipped easily forth. He'd finally found someone he could talk to._

_And the wanker had fallen asleep! Apparently he'd just wanted entertainment. He'd finally found someone he felt safe enough to talk to and the idiot had just wanted entertainment, like he'd been using Sherlock instead of a lullaby._

_He flung his mobile across the room where it landed noiselessly in a pile of laundry, then curled up into a foetal position on the bed. After several minutes, he leaned over the edge to pull a couple of strands of thread from the mattress. He reached inside and withdrew the hidden case._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up for Sherlock and John makes the best of a maudlin situation.

December 17

**John**

"Morning, John!"

"Morning, Donna. That's a nice scarf, where'd you get it?"

"Isn't it cute? My friend in Bavaria made it for me.

"You have a friend in Bavaria? I didn't know that."

"Yeah, we've known each other since we were fourteen. We both liked the same show and she IM'd me one day and we got talking and that was it, we've been friends ever since."

"Really! That's brilliant. How often do you get to see her?"

"Oh we've never met. That's what we're going to do if we pass this year. We've been saving up for it!"

"You've never met? So you don't actually know each other?"

"Don't be silly, we know each other very well and we've called each other a bunch of times. People say Internet friendships aren't real, well they're wrong. There's still a person on the other side."

"Oh.. no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just, I've got this friend who's **like** an Internet friend, but we text each other."

"But you haven't met yet."

"Well, no. He's a very private person, but you're right -- he **is** still a person and we have talked on the phone a few times."

"That's great!"

"So... this scarf of yours, would it be very hard to make? D'you think I'd be able to make one?"

**Sherlock**

_Once his application had been accepted and his courses confirmed, he'd dived straight into them. The hard part was keeping Mycroft and Mummy and Greg and everybody else from finding out about them. Well that and the minor boondoggle about money but that was simple enough, Daddy spent more on his mistresses for God's sake. He'd just buried the tuition fees the same way._

_**This** was more like it! No more sitting around in stupid classrooms, straining to hear over the background noises and chatter of idiots who thought whispering made them inaudible, no more feeling like his skin was crawling off from boredom, no more held back because of idiots who couldn't understand a simple concept... The site had promised "learn at your own pace" and he'd questioned them closely about exactly what that meant, because "his own pace" was **fast.** **No** classes, **no** idiot classmates, **no** distractions (apart from family), no slowing down! - Just him and the texts and the assignments and nothing standing in his way! _

_Idiots! All of them! **This** was the way to go! _

_He'd completed a module in each of his courses by the time Mycroft came home from work, so he was in a very good mood when his text alert chimed. It was John, seeking help with his "homemade Christmas" - help he couldn't provide. He didn't know anything about knitting (well, not **quite** true, he knew the history of Scottish Fair Isle and Irish fisherman jumpers but that wasn't what John was asking about.) He felt bad about that; John had turned to him for help and he couldn't help, his knowledge was inadequate. But the ensuing conversation was so ridiculously silly that it bounced him back up out of the momentary downer and he found himself chuckling again. John really did make his life better._

_He spent the evening searching out sites about knitting. While searching, he came across an image of a pet hedgehog between two slices of bread. He trimmed it and set it on his mobile as John's text message icon._

 

December 19

**John**

In the end, they'd taken some fairy lights and strung them up on one of the trees in the garden. There it is, John thought sadly, There's our Christmas tree this year. The presents are going to be awfully soggy sitting in the snow. He sighed then shrugged - got to make the best of it. Plenty of people in the world who can't afford a roof over their heads, let alone any sort of Christmas tree. 

The little voice in the back of his head whispered that they might not be able to afford their roof for much longer, either. He shook his head to quiet it. His mother's job was enough (barely) to cover the major expenses; with Daddy's dole (provided he got it), they should be able to squeak through. They'd be fine. His family would be fine. 

He snapped a picture with his mobile and texted it off, then sighed with relief. Sherlock and his snarky comments never failed to make John grin. 

 

December 20

**Greg**

I shouldn't have referred to John as wasting time, I really shouldn't, Greg thought as he put his mobile away. He was smiling. Anybody who would invest that much effort into befriending Sherlock wasn't wasting time. Best of all, **Sherlock** didn't think John was a waste of his time, he was quite insistent on that. It was ironic though - Sherlock had finally found a way to have a friend without having to 'get out and meet people.'

 

December 21

**Sherlock**

_He was able to disguise his assignments as his usual "crack-pot experiments", as Daddy called them. Still, the proximity of the holidays meant more family members were around and that made it harder for him to get **any** work done, of any kind. That was depressing enough without.... _

_Greg's comments still stung. Everyone was always on his case about making friends and when he finally makes one, Greg calls him a waste of time. Nice. Another one for the "People make no sense at all" file. Not that they were **really** friends. He hasn't even met John and if he had his way, he never would. _

_His mobile chimed. He looked at it and rolled his eyes but was unable to suppress a smile. John and his stupid sandwiches. Was that all he ever ate? Not that Sherlock had any right to comment... He scowled; John was still pressing him about the Christmas thing. He sighed heavily and sent, "If I tell you, will you fall asleep again?"_

_The answer made him see black. I'm not your sodding lullaby, he thought angrily and pitched the mobile into the laundry pile. He wasn't sharing that story for mere **entertainment.**_

_The phone kept chiming and he ignored it. Once, he dug it out again and looked at it, only to read "I just like to piss you off." Well congratulations, he thought angrily, You've succeeded. He turned the phone off then flopped onto the bed and curled up into a ball._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is coming, the goose is getting cooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for emotional abuse: needling, unrelenting criticism.

December 24

**Sherlock**

_"Sherlock Holmes, for pity's sake, is that how you hold a fork?"_

_"For God's sake, Sherlock, sit up straight!"_

_"Are you trying to catch birds, Sherlock? It's a wonder you haven't attracted a flock of them, the way you're spreading crumbs everywhere."_

_"Speaking of catching birds, have you got a girlfriend yet, Sherlock?"_

_"Don't be silly, Andreas, he can't even get a **friend** , let alone a girlfriend."_

_Today was Christmas Eve day and the extended family had been trickling in steadily. He'd been unable to get any work done at all, being forced to come out and greet group after group as they arrived. He was enduring a particularly odious brunch wherein he was subjected to the usual barrage of complaints - when was he going to get a girlfriend, when was he going to get a job, he looked too thin why wasn't he eating, when are you going to make some friends, and of course the story of his college disaster was trotted out again and again and again. Too weird, too distant, too contrary, too thin, too ugly, too this, too that, too the other thing from people who had no legs to stand on and it all became **too much**. Finally he bailed out to his room, craving relief and when he saw that John had texted, he forgot to be pissed off at the bloke. _

_Then he was dragged down to apologise to some cousin or other who had no business saying anything about him when she was on her seventh Scotch of the day and it was barely past 1. After the row, he was banished to his room again. He flopped onto his bed and thought about throwing himself out of the window. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? What was wrong with not being a people-person? Even **Mycroft** found these events exhausting. What difference did it make whether he had a girlfriend or not? Mycroft didn't have one, why was it okay for Mycroft not to have one but not him? What was wrong with doing experiments? If nobody did experiments, we'd still be living in caves! He checked his mobile and saw that John had texted again. He was still pressuring about the Christmas thing, which was the **last** thing that Sherlock needed. _

_But then, he offered him the **first** thing that Sherlock needed -- an escape. He considered the crowds of irate family members he'd have to fight through... then looked at the window again. Then he pulled a thread on the mattress and extracted the rolled-up emergency ladder hidden within. _

**John**

John felt sick. The little voice in the back of his head kept chanting "Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answers for." -- to which another, deeper voice in the back of his head huffed and corrected, "Don't ask questions for which you aren't prepared to know the answers." He tried to smile but he just couldn't. 

Oh god. Oh god. Jesus, he'd... He felt awful. He'd expected... He didn't know what he'd expected, quite frankly, but it wasn't **that!** Poor Sherlock. And every year since, he'd.. Oh god, the poor bloke, having to remember his favourite aunt dying on... 

John's eyes widened as the full implication hit him: She hadn't just been shot and died on Christmas Eve, Sherlock had **been there** , he'd **watched it happen!** Oh god!! Ten years ago... Oh god... He was a little kid and he'd **witnessed** his favourite aunt shot and **murdered** right in front of him... And John had... oh god, what an insensitive fool he was! Some friend. God. 

"Johnny? What's wrong?"

"Sorry, Mummy," he sighed, "Just.. Just realising that some people have it worse off than we do, that's all."

She smiled, "It's always good to count your blessings."

"Yeah."

**Sherlock**

_(Mon 4:22pm)  
Where did you go? _

_(Mon 4:23pm)  
None of your business, Mycroft._

_(Mon 4:24pm)  
Get back here at once, Sherlock, they're looking for you!_

_(Mon 4:25pm)  
I've told them the eggs were off to cover you._

_(Mon 4:26pm)  
An emergency escape ladder is to be used in **emergencies** , Sherlock._

_(Mon 4:28pm)  
It **was** an emergency._

**John**

"I'm going out, Mummy."

"Are you sure you're alright, Johnny?"

"Yeah. It's just... I said something really insensitive to my friend and I feel like crap about it."

"I'm sure you didn't mean to."

"I didn't know any better but that's no excuse, I should have respected his privacy better. I'm just... I don't know, I'm going to go out and see if I can't make it up to him somehow."

"Alright, dear. Good luck."

John grabbed his coat and set out towards Baker Street. He rounded the corner in time to see a cab pulling away from Speedy's, but he didn't think anything of it.

**Sherlock**

_"Where have you been?"_

_"None of your business."_

_"You were supposed to stay in your room."_

_"Then get out of my way so I can go there."_

_Mycroft eyed his little brother suspiciously. His irises were reacting normally but his breath smelled of... tea? He'd noticed that a lot, lately. Then he noticed something else. "What in the world is **that?!** "_

_"An early Christmas present," Sherlock sneered._

_"It looks appalling."_

_"It's handmade."_

_Mycroft blinked. "Who would knit you a scarf for Christmas?"_

_Sherlock repositioned it. Despite its ridiculous appearance, it was cosy on his neck and didn't itch. "You're jealous because all anybody can think of to give you is fairy cakes."_

_He stalked up to his room and flopped down onto the bed then took off the scarf to examine it. It was all lumpy and misshapen, too tight here and too loose there, quite obviously a beginner's first attempt. It felt plush, though, and the colour wasn't completely unpleasant. He rather liked it._

_He thumbed back through the text messages. Once again, John had managed to surprise him. "I'd tell you that I'm sorry but what good does that do?" -- none at all, especially since John wasn't the one who'd killed her. But he'd bought Sherlock tea and given him his first attempt at a scarf, in the hopes that it would make him smile._

_His text alert chimed - John again. Sherlock had the feeling that John was trying to do the text equivalent of laying a hand on his shoulder. He was about to text further when a voice hollared, "Sherlock Holmes! Supper is being served and you **will** be punctual! Get down here right now!" -- because first they wanted him to stay in his room, now they wanted him to go back into the shark tank. _

_He debated whether to bring his scarf but decided against it. He was sure there would be trouble if his scarf punched any relatives in the face._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

January 1

**Sherlock**

_Thank god the holidays were almost over. He'd gotten barely any work done and his relatives had been nothing but insulting and in a few cases, downright abusive. Then he'd had a nightmare about cannibal hedgehogs covering him with cranberry sauce._

_Finally he'd been dragged out tonight into the cold to watch stupid explosions that hurt his eyes and made his ears ring with a crowd of far too many people who'd had far too much to drink. By the time he fell into his bed, he was exhausted and craving. He was feeling about for his leather case when he noticed the voice mail icon on his mobile was blinking. He pressed it._

_He stopped the playback and put his coat and shoes back on. Silently he snuck out through the darkened hallways and out the back door, crossing the garden and locking himself in the shed. When he was certain he wouldn't be heard, he pressed play and laughed until tears streamed down his face._

**John**

He had just barely begun his exams and John was already sweating. He stared at the questions but they made no sense, no sense at all. They might as well have been Greek. He looked closer and saw that they **were** Greek. Why were his exams in **Greek??** And he had to write, the clock was ticking, his family were depending on him, he couldn't let them down...

He snapped awake. Immediately his anxiety was intruded upon by awareness of a pounding headache. He groaned and passed a hand down his face then got up to get some water so he could have something in his stomach for when he threw up. ...That wasn't his intention but that's what happened anyways. He scrubbed the horrible taste of hangover off his teeth then went to get some tea. 

His mobile chimed. He saw the text icon and felt a warm happiness spread through his belly, briefly overshadowing the nausea. He nearly threw up again when he saw the words "You left me an interesting voice mail last night." Oh NOOOOO! He decided to take Sherlock's word for it that he hadn't been **too** delerious. The alternative was just too horrible to think about. 

He spent the part of the day anxiously checking his phone before remembering what day it was. Nobody was going to ring on New Year's Day.

 

January 2

 

**Greg**

Greg snapped his mobile down thoughtfully. His offer had been genuine. The Holmes family environment was growing more toxic by the day. Mycroft had taken to his job as a means of escape, working longer hours as he saved up enough money to get a flat of his own, but Sherlock had nowhere to go. 

He was getting worried. Mycroft had said he was sure Sherlock was hiding something and he distrusted this "John." Greg had chuckled and assured the older brother that John wasn't what he feared he was, but refused to divulge more than that. It left Mycroft more distrustful than ever but it couldn't be helped -- Greg had worked long and hard to build the fragile trust he had with Sherlock and he wasn't about to risk it.

 

January 3

**John**

The call had come last night and they'd scheduled the interview for mid-morning. John had woken up from another nightmare then stared at the clock and realised he'd slept through his alarm. He had a hurried shower and threw on his trousers and best jumper. He made it on time - barely - but wasn't confident about how he'd presented. 

He didn't like this. It would eat into his precious studying time but he needed to help his family as well. 

He studied until his felt his brain melting out his ears. He badly needed a break. His eyes fell on his mobile and he smiled wanly.

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock had just finished another chemistry assignment and was stretching his arms when his text alert chimed. The sight of the silly hedgehog sandwich icon made him smile, as did the nicely simple conversation opener. The ensuing conversation about watermelon farming proved to be a refreshing distraction. Then John texted something that left Sherlock feeling.... he wasn't sure what._

_"I like you," he read, "And the snarky, annoying bits that come with you." He stared at the words for several minutes, uncertain how to respond._

_** "SHERLOCK HOLMES!! I want a WORD with you!" ** _

_........ well.......... at least **somebody** liked him....._

 

January 4

**John**

The call had come in the mid-afternoon. John couldn't believe it; he was certain he'd blown the interview, but apparently not. Or maybe the other candidates had shown worse than he had. Whatever the reason, it was one thing off his mind and he was grateful, even though it added to his worries about his studying. 

He'd been pulling a cram session with Molly at her place all evening. She'd wanted him to invite Sherlock, God only knew why. ...No, he knew why; she was hoping to hook up with the man. That rankled John for some reason. Maybe it was because he knew that Sherlock had a rather opposite opinion of Molly than she did of him. John wasn't sure if that was just Molly or if his invisible friend felt that way about all girls. He'd said 'girlfriends weren't his area', after all. Wonder why that was? Maybe he hadn't met the right girl yet? No, that was heterosexist or maybe it was heteronormative... John was learning new vocabulary in the course of learning about his sister's world. It was a world full of big words. He giggled to himself -- a few of his friends had been complaining about John's increasing vocabulary and Katy of course had actually screamed "Stop using big words!" during their final fight. Then, on the other side, he had his invisible friend imploring, Use big words! It was funny. Ugh he was exhausted.

He picked up his mobile and texted "I'm drowning in texbooks. Send help." And help had arrived, in the form of instant understanding and silly conversation about fish and a description of feet that only a person as tired as John was would find as hilarious as John did. He signed off and curled up on Molly's couch. I like you, he thought, looking at his mobile, And all the snarky, annoying bits that come with you.

He was nearly asleep when his phone chimed again, this time with a link to a song called "Fish Heads" by someone called Barnes and Barnes. He rummaged around in his jacket and pulled out his earphones. He had to stuff the cushion into his mouth to keep from waking Molly and her family. Yeah, he thought as he drifted off again, I really like you. Thank you, Sherlock.

 

January 6

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock stared at the phone, feeling..... he wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it wasn't good. John had sounded mortified when he rang off. His friends had arrived, obviously unexpectedly, and he'd rung off in a panic. Because of his job, or because of... Sherlock? Was he embarrassed to have been caught talking to Sherlock?_

_...Of course, who **wouldn't** be embarrassed to be caught talking to him? Nobody **liked** talking to him, even when he **was** trying, before he'd finally bowed to the inevitable. Why would John tell Sherlock that he liked him, only to turn around and be embarrassed to be talking to him? _

_People just made no sense at all._

**John**

That was amazing! John thought as the rush of customers slowed down a little. He got all of that just from my text messages? Wow! That's ingenius, that's... it's a little embarrassing, but... 

He sighed and shrugged -- if you can't talk to the bloke who lives in your phone, who can you talk to? It was kind of a relief not to have to hide it anymore. From him, anyways.

Speaking of relief, he had just enough time to hit the loo before the next rush began.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Apparently there's a word for what they do to you, when you say something you know is true and they deny it and tell you you're wrong or imagining things. It's called gaslighting."
> 
> ~
> 
> "John, this is Sally Donovan, she's going to teach you how to pour latte art."

January 7

**Sherlock**

_"It's not worth it, the boy will never amount to anything. He's a complete waste of time and money."_

_"Because it's all about money," Sherlock muttered under his breath. He really, really hated it when his parents called him down on the carpet, only to yell about him as if he wasn't there._

_"That's not true! Look, Sherlock will find another college **and** he will apply himself better and everything will be fine, won't it, Sherlock?" Yes, Mummy, everything is fine, keep telling yourself that as if that might actually make it true._

_"He could have won a scholarship like his cousin Alastair, if he hadn't cocked it up at college!"_

_ "A scholarship he promptly gambled away." _

_"What?" ...not quiet enough, dammit. "More lies, Sherlock?"_

_"I think you should know by now, that I don't have to lie. Unlike **other** people, **Daddy.** " Sherlock lifted his head and met his father's steely glare with his own._

_"For heaven's sake, Sherlock, don't start..."_

_"Alastair will be entering law school, aided by the scholarship he won. One day, he shall be called before the bar. You, on the other hand, might just about be bussing tables, if you're lucky."_

_"Which is why Alastair was looking so nervous whenever anybody brought it up and why his Internet temp files were full of online gambling sites. Honestly, it's like he wasn't even trying. His scholarship account is empty and he has three credit cards racked up because he's been using one to pay off the others in an endless game of Peter-Paul," Sherlock snapped back, "And you can buss my arse!"_

_Mummy gasped. **"Sherlock!!"**_

_The Holmes patriarch loomed over his youngest son, radiating cold fury. "You are wrong, Sherlock Holmes," he hissed, "In every possible way."_

_Sherlock didn't let it show that the shot had scored. Instead, he managed to spit out, "Who made me?" before dodging out from under the older man and scrambling up the stairs._

_He slammed the door shut and paced his room in circles, yanking fistfuls of his hair until it tore, fighting against the urge to slam his head against the wall until the physical pain drowned out the frustration, humiliation and rage. He thought about the leather case, craving something that would switch it all off._

_The door opened. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."_

_Sherlock's head snapped around to glare daggers at his brother, **"Get out!"** _

_"You didn't do a very good job of hiding the numbers," Mycroft said smugly, "He hasn't figured out what they're for yet but he will. He already suspects. It won't take him long to identify what you've been spending it on and then you'll be in for it."_

_"And you'll be there, cheering him on."_

_Mycroft's eyes narrowed, "If you'd stop rocking the boat, you wouldn't be in danger of drowning."_

_"If you'd stop poking your fat nose where it isn't wanted, it wouldn't be in danger of being punched!"_

_Mycroft glared at him for a few moments. "Sometimes I think Daddy's right about you."_

_"Takes one to know one," Sherlock snapped back. He glided closer and whispered, "I know what you do in the garden shed."_

_Mycroft's head snapped back, his face sheet white, then dark red. "This isn't over," he hissed and slammed the door._

_Sherlock turned away, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes for a few moments. Then he spun about and slammed his fist into the headboard, again and again, faster, until his knuckles split and bled. He sat on the bed and drew his knees up tight to his chest, tearing fistfuls of his hair. He was craving desperately now, something that would turn off the world, just make it all stop but he'd relocated the case again and he didn't dare go looking for it this early._

_His eyes fell on his mobile._

**Greg**

"C'mon in.. Rocky, down, good boy... Make yourself at home," Greg gestured expansively towards the small living room. "I've got hot chocolate, or do you want tea?"

"Alright." 

Greg watched as Sherlock made his way awkwardly to the couch and drop his small satchel and the laptop he'd brought with him onto the coffee table. He went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, as if he hadn't seen the bruised and bloody knuckles or the hair falling in clumps. "Turns out my aunt is big into tea. She sent me some good stuff. It's loose, not in bags, and it's a lot stronger than the bagged stuff. Assam Something-Or-Other, I can't pronounce it. Tastes like it has honey in it but it doesn't." He poked his head out of the kitchen, "You like honey, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Do you want some honey in this? It's good."

"Sure."

Greg smiled but inwardly, he was wincing. One-word-answers Sherlock, never a good sign. And Rocky, with his unerring sense of people in trouble, had gone straight to Sherlock's side and was sitting next to him. He'd put his head on Sherlock's knee and was looking up at him with those pet-me puppy eyes, but his whole stature said 'I will protect you.' 

He brought the tea out and sat down on the chair near the couch. "You know," he began, "Apparently there's a word for what they do to you, when you say something you know is true and they deny it and tell you you're wrong or imagining things. It's called gaslighting." Sherlock looked away. Greg flicked a finger at Sherlock's knuckles, "Should bandage that. Hang on, I've got some ointment. What'd you do, punch Mycroft's nose?"

"Headboard."

Better than punching people, Greg thought as he came back with the ointment and plasters. "Do you want some supper? I've got chips and egg."

"No."

"Suit yourself." But he brought out a small plateful anyways. Sherlock didn't touch it. He sat with his knees drawn up, staring into the middle distance. Rocky jumped up onto the couch and inserted himself between the two young men. Greg took that as a hint and turned the telly onto the game. 

"You didn't bring your violin?" Greg knew how important the violin was to Sherlock.

"No."

"You brought your laptop?"

"Yes." 

That didn't make sense. Sherlock's violin was practically an extension of himself. Why would his laptop be more important to take with him than his violin? But by the sounds of it, trying to get answers would get him nowhere. He knew there was no pressuring Sherlock to talk -- he'd either talk when he was ready to, or he wouldn't.

His mobile rang. "Hello... No. Yes, I'll just bet. Yes, I know where he is. No. No, I'm not telling you. No. It **was** an emergency, Mycroft. No. No. Because quite frankly, you're part of the problem. **Yes.** No. Right, see, now you're doing it too. Gaslighting. You forget, Mycroft, I've been 'round, I've **heard** your family; I **know.** Yes, I'm aware of that. Yes. Yes, I know. No. I said, I'm not telling you. All I'll tell you is that he's somewhere safe. Nope. Couldn't say, wouldn't even if I knew. Yup, that's me! Bu-bye!" He rang off, chuckling but looking annoyed.

".......Thanks," Sherlock said softly. 

"Any time," Greg smiled.

He went to bed at 10:30, after setting Sherlock up on the couch with a pillow, comforter and sheet. At 10:45, just as he was drifting off, he heard the sound of Sherlock's text chime.

**John**

John had forgone pestering Sherlock about his lunchtime sandwich, as he was just about able to afford the egg salad and that was it. After classes, he brought his books to work, hoping to get a little studying in on his breaks, since he'd be working tonight. 

"Evening, John!" the manager greeted him as he walked in, "John, this is Sally Donovan, she's going to teach you how to pour latte art."

"Hello," John smiled. Great - latte art. 'As if you didn't have enough useless things to learn,' said a deeper voice in the back of his mind; he barely stifled the giggles but couldn't suppress the smile. His first attempts were lousy anyways. Maybe he could pass them off as cubist?

The shift was long and busy. Why was a coffee shop so busy in the evening? Too busy, too many people, and the smells of coffee, food and people were making him feel nauseated. Or maybe it was his latte art. Apparently making latte art was exhausting too, he felt tired to the bone. 

Half way through the shift, the egg salad decided it was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore. They sent him home after that. 

He flopped into bed with a cup of soup, after being unable to keep anything solid down. He wanted to sleep but the egg salad wasn't finished with him yet. His head was too thick to handle studying, so he grabbed his mobile instead and settled in for a salmonella enchanted evening. At least he wouldn't be alone. ...Metaphorically, anyways.

**Sherlock**

_Greg walked past on the way back from the loo, then stepped back a pace when he noticed the dim light. "You still awake?"_

_"I usually am," Sherlock shrugged._

_"Who's texting you at this hour?"_

_"John. He bothers me while he chooses his 1am sandwich," Sherlock was smiling slightly, so clearly not literally bothered, "Although not tonight, apparently. He claims his sandwich broke up with him."_

_"His... what?"_

_"Called him a bitch, apparently."_

_"His **sandwich** called him a bitch and broke up with him?" Greg said incredulously, starting to laugh. _

_Sherlock grinned, "I know. I believe I now understanding the meaning of 'I can't even.' How do I respond to that? I have no idea. He does that to me a lot. He says something so thoroughly bizarre and I have no idea how to respond."_

_"He makes you laugh," Greg observed._

_"Oh GOD, all we need is the movie and the popcorn," Sherlock groaned, "When I told him I was here, he said 'Oo, you're having a sleepover at Greg's!' like we're tweenage girls, and here we are, talking about the hedgehog in my phone."_

_"......Hedgehog?"_

_"Never mind, it's ridiculous."_

_"What've you got around your neck?"_

_The darkness mostly hid Sherlock's expression but he pulled it off, "It's something John made." Greg took it and opened it out. Then he doubled over laughing. "Yes, it was his first attempt," Sherlock snickered, "It looks appalling but the yarn is nice. However, I've yet to observe it drinking beer or shooting lasers. I don't know if it punches sharks in the face as I have no access to sharks, though I briefly considered testing the hypothesis on my relatives."_

_Greg had the heel of his hand mashed into his mouth to stifle his laughter. "And these are the sorts of things John says?"_

_"Yes. I get the most bizarre mental images and I just don't know whether to laugh or dump my mobile into the Thames."_

_"I know which one I'm choosing," Greg chuckled._

_"The other night, he thought fish were 'hardcore' because they don't sleep, then he conjured up gangs of death metal fish roaming the streets of London looking for pedestrians to beat up, **where** does he get this stuff??" Greg had doubled over again. "He leaves me at a loss for words. What do I say to death metal fish gangs?"_

_Greg wiped his eyes. "I have no idea either," he gasped, "I can tell you this though, you should keep this bloke. He's good for you."_

_Sherlock didn't know what to say to that, either. Greg bid him good night and Sherlock put his mobile down to curl up on the couch. A few minutes later, Rocky jumped up and lay down beside him. Initially annoyed, Sherlock put his arm around the dog and eventually fell asleep._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You think that freak is your friend??"
> 
> ~
> 
> _Order something extremely messy. I'd recommend the ribs._

January 9

**John**

"Evening, John."

"Evening, Sally!" John breezed into the coffee shop to doff his jacket and bag in the back room. 

"You're cheerful today."

"Yup!" John agreed, "Got a date on Saturday!"

"Ooo nice! Girlfriend?"

"Not yet, first date with her. Girl from my biology class." John hummed under his breath as he changed into his uniform shirt to start his shift. 

When they got their first break, Sally asked him, "What's that you keep singing? Something about fish heads?"

"Yeah," John chuckled, "It's something my friend Sherlock sent to me, to cheer me up one night. It's whack but I like it. ...What?"

Sally was staring at him incredulously, "Did you say 'Sherlock'? As in... Sherlock **Holmes?** "

John looked at her, "Yeah? Why, do you know him?"

"You think that freak is your friend??"

John felt like he'd been slapped. He stared at Sally, unable to credit his ears. "...I take it that's a yes."

"I went to school with him," she replied, "Weirdest kid I ever met, always reading books about crime and murderers and freakish crap. He was a bloody know-it-all too. He had this thing where he'd tell you what you'd been doing, tell all your secrets, by the way you blew your nose or whatever. He'd even tell the teachers they were wrong, which pissed them off to no end."

"Was he right?" John asked, thinking of some of the brainy kids in his school.

"Well yeah, but that's not the point. Anyways he was always being sent to the office, right? Getting into fights and stuff like that."

"Who picked the fights?" John was working down a mental checklist now, "Was it him choosing a target or did kids single him out and pick on him first?"

Sally hesitated then rallied again, "It's not like he didn't ask for it! The freak's a murderer in the making!"

"Because he read books about crime?"

"Yes!"

"You know his aunt was a criminologist?"

"...What?"

"My sister went missing," John said casually, "He found her. He put clues together and told us where she was. We were able to bring her home before there was any trouble, thanks to him." He glanced at Sally to see her mouth open, trying to parse this new information. "Sorry, gotta go," John smiled, "My break's over."

 

January 10

**John**

All through classes, John had been turning the conversation over and over in his mind. Aside from the fact that Sally apparently hadn't outgrown middle school name-calling, what was standing out to John was her comment about 'He could tell all of your secrets by the way you blew your nose.' Apparently that extended to text messages, remembering how Sherlock had managed to extrapolate John's family financial status. And when did he start thinking big words like "extrapolate?" - knowing Sherlock had done wonders for John's vocabulary. 

Getting into fights... Was that what had gotten Sherlock expelled from college? He thought back to the kids he'd known in middle school and high school. A lot of times, a brainy kid would be minding his own business and a bloke would start baiting him, backed up by his supporters, goading him until he snapped and either fought back or fled. Even if the other bloke took the first swing, it was almost always the brainy kid who got the blame and was sent to the office, because the other bloke's friends would lie and swear that the brainy kid swung first. What bothered John the most was that the teachers would tell the kid that he should be "above all of that." Now that John thought about it, that seemed to be telling a person to have a superiority complex, while simultaneously telling them to stop standing up for themselves and be a good victim. The more John thought about it, the more ill he felt. 

He wasn't working tonight at least, which was good. He was so far behind on his homework. 

Getting into fights.... and Sherlock had said something about 'right about now is when people start looking for the nearest object to throw at him.' John had thought he was kidding, being all metaphorical (another big word!), and had played along but... But now, he wondered about that.

 

January 11

**Greg**

"Thanks for taking the bins out."

"No problem."

"Thanks for helping with the dishes."

"No problem."

"Thanks for taking Rocky for a walk this morning."

"No problem."

"Thanks for being so nice to my gran."

"No problem."

"Are you feeling okay? You're not usually like this."

"....."

"Kidding, I'm just kidding!"

"Not funny, Greg."

 

January 12

**Sherlock**

_Greg likes soppy movies, who knew? The better question was, who wanted to know? - Certainly not Sherlock. Sherlock certainly didn't know why anyone would want to watch a movie that was basically the life of anyone with a pregnant wife and a dog, anywhere in the world. Sherlock wasn't much of a movie person but even so, he felt that if one were intent on wasting two hours of one's life staring at a screen, it should be for something more inventive than peering into the windows of Joe and Jane Average Anywhere. He already did that on a daily basis. Metaphorically, anyways._

_Still, there were worse ways to spend a Saturday. Being yelled at and constantly criticised, for one. He was doing his best to be a good guest so Greg's parents wouldn't kick him out and so far it **seemed** to be working, although he suspected he might be developing an allergy to the dog. The silly dog liked him but the silly dog liked everybody so not much of a point score, there._

_And John not only needed help choosing his sandwich, it seemed he was completely incapable of dressing himself without enlisting Sherlock's assistance. Here's England's medical future. He rolled his eyes, tempted to give John some utterly ridiculous suggestions. Argyle trousers, possibly, although then he might be mistaken for a curling player. You're ugly and your invisible texting friend dresses you funny. He shook his head, then shook it again to clear it of the sudden mental image of John standing in just his pants. Just... just no._

_Ohhhhhh dear, he's dating a **horse girl.** That made Sherlock pause. He knew about horse girls. He knew about horse boys, who were the only possible match for heterosexual horse girls. John was not a horse boy. John was put off by the Furbies, he was not going to be a match for the horsies. Oh **no!** Suddenly the future unfolded all too clearly before Sherlock: John was a listener and he had the sort of pleasant personality that most girls looked for; horse girls especially, as they wanted somebody to babble to. John would be put off by the horses but the horse girl would be enthralled and very quickly infatuated. She would pursue John who would be put into the position of having to break it off, which would hurt the horse girl's feelings and make John feel like a miserable person which John would try to avoid so every time he'd try to break it off, he wouldn't be able to and Sherlock could probably make some money as a fortune teller because one really **didn't** need a crystal ball. _

_Oh this was going to be a train wreck, as Greg would put it. And Sherlock would have to endure John's endless complaining texts, as if his venting about the late Katy wasn't bad enough._

_Fortunately, Sherlock knew exactly what would put a horse girl off. If John could be counted on to cooperate, the horsey girl would be put off and not want to date John again, sparing him the whole long drawn-out ordeal. Yes._

_(Sat 5:14pm)  
Order something extremely messy. I'd recommend the ribs._

**John**

Who knew there were so many breeds of horses? An even better question, Who wanted to know there were so many breeds of horses? Certainly not John, but apparently he needed to know, because Ella had been quite insistant on telling him. And showing him. All through supper. 

Other than that, she was nice. Maybe next time, he could get her to talk about something other than horses...?

His mobile chimed and he smiled when he saw that it was Sherlock, asking (no, **inquiring** ) how his date had gone. He texted back that he never wanted to see another horse picture again.

Too late, he realised what a bait line that was. Then he was laughing himself sick. 

"Johnny? Is everything alright?"

John looked up and grinned, "Hi Harry. Yeah, it's fine, my friend was just asking after my date, that's all."

"How'd it go?"

"It was.... erm, no, actually, it wasn't an experience I wish to repeat. She's a horse girl."

"Oh."

"Don't date a horse girl unless you like endless pictures of horses."

Harry grinned, "I could have told you that."

John looked at her, suddenly realising what she meant. "Yeah, I guess you could," he smiled, then tipped his head, "How about you? How are you holding up? You're still awake."

She sighed, "Daddy went to talk to the minister at the church."

"Oh."

"The minister told him to welcome me as God made me."

"Good for him!"

"Now Daddy wants us to move to another church."

"Oh for...!" John blew out a sigh then looked at his sister. "C'mere," he said, holding out his arm. "Daddy's from another time," he said, hugging her, "A lot has changed since he was our age and you know Daddy doesn't take change very well. That doesn't excuse him, but..."

"I know, Johnny."

"But I got your back, alright? And now I know who to come to for advice on dating," he chuckled. 

She giggled and hugged him tightly, "Thanks, Johnny."

"My friend suggested I get ribs. There was sauce everywhere. I think that put her off."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, "That's probably a good thing."

"Actually, yeah, you're probably right."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, he hasn't been nice. In fact, he's been quite prickly and stand-offish, can't imagine why. But he has been there when I've needed somebody to talk to, he cheers me up, and like I said, he found my sister when she went missing. He's not nice but he does nice things."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to have warnings all over it. Just so people are, uh, warned.

January 11

**John**

"How's your freaky friend doing?"

John paused and looked over his shoulder, "He's fine."

"You really are an idiot if you think that freak is your friend," Sally spat, "He doesn't **have** friends. He'll always let you down."

"What do you mean?"

"We used to crib off his homework and he always gave us the wrong answers." 

John remembered Sherlock texting, _"Pity, you could have made some money and I could have humiliated my brother."_ "So he probably recognised that you were just using him and fed you the wrong answers," he said. 

Sally looked stunned. "That's not... We weren't..."

"Oh? Because it sure sounds like it, to me." John put his empty mug down and got up, then tipped his head, "You're not really a very nice person, are you, Sally."

She gaped at him in shock, " **I'm** not nice?! Excuse me, I'm very nice! It's Sherlock Holmes who isn't nice!"

"No," John agreed, to Sally's surprise, "He hasn't been nice. In fact, he's been quite prickly and stand-offish, can't imagine why. But he has been there when I've needed somebody to talk to, he cheers me up, and like I said, he found my sister when she went missing. He's not nice but he does nice things."

 

January 12

**Sherlock**

_Not everybody had a chemistry lab in their bedroom... which was about the only thing that Sherlock missed about home, quite frankly. He didn't have a chemistry lab at Greg's house. Fortunately, the college had contracts with various facilities around London; all he'd had to do was book a time._

_The environment was completely different from regular college. For one thing, it was a lot less crowded, there were maybe ten other students here. For another, the laboratory had contracts with several online colleges, so there was a mix of students with different curricula and backgrounds. And ages, that was the most interesting. Currently he was partnering with a thirty-three year old bloke who had a promising job waiting for him at one of the shelters, if he passed his A-levels. He'd never met anybody more excited to be prepping for A-levels, the fellow was acting like it was a dream come true. There were other drop-outs, like himself, and a few whose parents seen the light and done what he wished his parents would have done for him._

_After his labwork was done, he spent the rest of the time at the library with his laptop, working on his modules. He'd be finished in a couple of months, at the rate he was going._

 

January 14

**Sherlock**

_He was at the library when Greg texted him. It was annoying; once he finished this module, that entire subject would be sewn up and he could take the exam._

_His heart sank. So, this was it then, he knew it was coming. Overstayed his welcome. Never mind that the situation at home hadn't changed or improved in any way, never mind that he didn't have any other place to go. Never mind that he was craving like hell and had been doing his best to cope with the withdrawal symptoms._

_Well. That's it, then. He opened his browser. Maybe he could find a shelter somewhere? He had a chem lab scheduled for this afternoon; maybe he could talk to some of the students, somebody might know of some resources. The chances of any of them being the same people who were there on Monday were slim, though._

_Worth the effort though. Going back home to stay was simply... out of the question._

**John**

As if he didn't have enough to worry about with exams coming up, Sally had lodged a complaint. Fortunately the manager didn't think that not liking a co-worker's friend was a sacking offense and it was Sally who got the sharp warning, which **really** didn't endear her to John. 

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't care about anybody!"

"Well, listening to you, maybe nobody's given him a reason to." There was Sally's fish look again. He was fast learning that Sally did not like having holes poked in her theories once she'd made up her mind. 

"You said you only text, you haven't actually met him. You don't actually know him."

"You went to school with him and you didn't know his aunt was a criminologist," John pointed out and scored another hit. 

"You could have heard that somewhere," Sally just wouldn't budge, "You don't know **him.** "

John hesitated... then a smile spread slowly across his face. "I know that he likes science and criminology. I know he likes chemistry and he experiments a lot and runs out of petri dishes. I know he likes green tea between 60 and 80 degrees Celsius. I know he plays the violin and his favorite song is Bach's _Chaconne._ He has a brother who's worried about him but he won't turn to him for help, probably because he's been reading too much George Orwell. I could go on, but that's enough for now."

Sally just stared at him. Finally she groused, "I still think he's a serial killer in the making."

"He saved my sister. **I** think he's a detective in the making. He studies crimes because he wants to solve them."

Sally pounced, "Ha! Well he's certainly not adverse to committing them! You want to know what your 'friend' has been doing?" 

She told him. 

John stared at her for a few seconds then looked away, digesting that. "......I see," he said thoughtfully, then looked back at her, "Tell me.... Did that start **before** all the bullying and the juvenile name-calling, or **after**?" He watched her face for a few moments. "I thought as much. Incidentally, I find it interesting that you dislike that **he** reveals private things about people, but you have no problem doing it yourself. Bit of a double standard there, I should watch that if I were you."

**Sherlock**

_He'd timed it perfectly. Mycroft and Daddy were both at work and Mummy was out with her vapid society friends. There was nobody in the house but he didn't linger. He was going mad with need, he simply **had** to have it, he **had** to feel it, had to hear its song in his head, burning away the frost and singing him alive. _

_He made straight for his room and searched for it. It wasn't in any of its usual places and for a moment, he panicked. Then he found the case and breathed a sigh of relief. He set the case on his bed and his fingers slid along the leather and flipped open the clasps. Another sigh of relief as he lifted the antique from the case and caressed its curves. He had only a very short window of time to do this; he hoped it would be enough to get him through._

_He rosined the bow then nestled the violin beneath his chin and began to play._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a really **bad** day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to bump up the warnings. Warnings for suicide ideation & suicide attack.
> 
> Just a reminder, this **has** been previewed and approved by Pawtal. Which means she is scarier than I am ^_^;;

January 16

**Sherlock**

_He'd finished another lab and applied for his first exam. His grades had started trickling in - he could fly through his modules but the teachers evaluating them were slower - and they were as high as he'd expected them to be. **This** was the way to go! _

_He found himself near home, such as it was, and checked his watch. His fingers itched to play... should be safe enough, everyone should be out. Worth risking it? - yes._

_He made straight for his room and tucked the instrument under his chin. He couldn't risk taking it with him, not yet. Not until he knew where he'd be going. He'd talked to a few of the students who'd been at the lab today; two of them had been in the same situation and knew people he might be able to contact. They'd taken his number and promised to do what they could._

_He wouldn't be able to take his violin. Maybe someday he could get another but it wouldn't be **this** one. _

_The violin sang, sweetly melancholic, until the floor creaked behind him and his blood went cold. His heart accelerated. Who? Had Mummy come back? It was too early for Mycroft to leave work, surely?_

_"So, you've returned."_

_His heart slammed against his chest at the sound of the last voice he'd wanted to hear. He turned._

_**Daddy.** _

**Greg**

"Y'allo!"

" **Where has he been?** "

"Mycroft, I've told you before, I won't--*"

"Stop pissing around, Greg, this isn't a game! I need to know where he might be going!"

"Whoa, you **never** cuss... What's going on?"

"I came home to the mother of all rows. I've never heard Daddy screaming like that before, I've never heard him like that before. He had Sherlock backed into a corner like an animal, he looked just like a cornered animal..."

"Whoa, whoa, Mycroft, slow down, you're repeating yourself. What was Sherlock doing at home? He's been out all day, I don't know where he's been."

"He's been.. **what?** What do you mean, 'he's been out all day', how do you know?"

"..great, so much for secrecy... He's been staying at mine. I told you he was somewhere safe; he's been kipping on my couch." 

"Keep an eye out for him then. His GPS is off, I can't track him."

"Mycroft! What! Happened!"

"The violin was out; I think he must have come back for it when Daddy came home early. It seems my little brother's blabbermouth has led to some enquiries. There's going to be an investigation. Daddy's been suspended pending the outcome."

"Oh holy shit."

"All of Daddy's activities are going to come to light."

"Holy.. Wait, **you knew about that?** "

"Yes. The thing is, Sherlock skimmed a little off the top of what Daddy had already skimmed. We thought he was taking the money to buy drugs."

"I'm pretty certain he hasn't been using while he's been here. He's been trying to hide it but I'm certain he's been going through withdrawal."

"It's quite possible that you're correct, Greg. He wasn't buying drugs with it, he was paying the tuition fees for an online college."

"Oh yeah, that's an option nowadays. So **that's** why he was taking his laptop with him!"

"I'm trying to recover the hard drive and I've made some progress. His wireless history shows he's been connecting from the library and from an independent laboratory."

"So he can do his chemistry experiments, that is **brilliant!** "

"Daddy didn't think so. He thinks it's not a real college. I looked into it and it's a legitimate, recognised college, every bit as valid as a brick-and-mortar school, but Daddy doesn't think so. Sherlock bolted and Daddy threw the laptop at him and smashed it. It's shattered and the hard drive is damaged."

"... He's not answering me. Alright, where are you right now?"

"I'm at the office. I don't dare do this with Daddy in the vicinity."

"No, I suppose not. Alright, I'll take Rocky and see what we can do. He's not much of a sniffer dog but we'll see. I'll tell Mummy to text me if he stops here."

Forty minutes later, Greg's mobile rang again. "I'll have you know it's brass monkeys out here, Mycroft."

"They found him. The police brought him home. I got a text from Mummy."

"Ah. Good?"

"..... I don't think so. I just got another text. She says she's afraid she just made it worse."

"Oh for...! Can **none** of you keep your mouths shut when you need to?"

"I... suppose it could be said that my brother does come by it honestly."

"Oh, that's an admission. Look, keep me informed, alright? I'll be at home, I'll leave my mobile on all night."

**Sherlock**

_They'd **nailed the freakin' window shut.** Who did that? It was ridiculous! Ridiculous. The whole **thing** was ridiculous. He was pacing in ellipeses, ripping his hair in handfuls. So close, he'd been so close, he could have had his A-levels by the end of May at the outside, why did he.... Why did he... How could he.... They kept.... They said.... They..........._

_They hadn't found the leather case. His fingers had quested carefully behind the wardrobe until he found the utility panel and silently pried it up. And Mummy had been so thoughtful as to provide him with a pitcher of water._

_Then his eyes fell on the mishapen, laughable scarf, peeking out of his pack, and he realised he had one thing left to do._

**John**

So Sally had been right. He wondered briefly which drugs Sherlock was addicted to but only briefly. It made sense of everything, though: Sherlock's brother's creepy Orwellian offers, Sherlock's rigid stand-offishness, his Whatever Happened at College, possibly even his being beaten up. And... "family Insult-Sherlock night" - if he was getting at home what John had heard from Sally... Well it didn't excuse it but it sure as heck explained it but John didn't have time to dwell on that because he was certain that something was very, **very** wrong. Wrong with a capital Wruh. 

**Sherlock**

_The solution was ready. Not his usual 7% solution, oh no; he'd calculated the dose precisely. It would hurt - he knew that. It would burn its way through his veins and there would likely be terrible pain as his heart arrested but then it would be over. He filled the syringe and laid it down on the night table. He was tying the tournequet when his text alert chimed and the screen flashed a hedgehog sandwich._

(Sat 12:20am)  
If all this is because you think your life is messed up, then I’m sorry but that’s no excuse. You already know I got my new job only because one of my parents lost theirs, and what little money trickles in is going straight to university fees. Fees we probably won’t even end up paying because it’s so damn expensive. My sister is scared to be in the same room, let alone same house as my parents because they’re still having a hard time coping with her coming out, and my grades are slipping and Mike might be moving away and Katy now has a girlfriend and so just stop. Stop it. Because we both need each other.

_He rubbed up the vein, barely glancing at the message. Then he picked up the syringe and turned it over in his fingers, watching the way the light glinted off the needle and the liquid inside the barrel._

(Sat 12:34am)  
And lets be honest, nothing you’re going through can be worse than dating a girl who turned out to be using you as a beard.

_Pretty sure you're wrong there, he thought. Pretty sure that Daddy being an embezzling adulterer who just destroyed most of a semester's worth of college work beats that. Then the mental image of a girl wearing a hedgehog literally as a beard, strapped to her chin, came to mind and he gave the mobile a funny look._

(Sat 12:38am)  
I sat through all those episodes of Jeremy Kyle for nothing.

_That I wouldn't doubt, he thought, still turning the syringe in his fingers. Well that would explain why John's grades were slipping. That would explain why John was only slightly stupid - his brain was clearly damaged by Jeremy Kyle and Furbies. Probably the horses didn't help either. Oh dear. I contributed some extra horses. That could have caused extra brain damage. Does that mean I'm partly responsible? It probably does._

_He twirled the syringe in his fingers, watching the play of the light. Why would John's grades be slipping? He's only **slightly** stupid. Once he gets out of his silly pop-culture surroundings, he's actually quite intelligent. Certainly one of the more intelligent people Sherlock had ever spoken to, outside of... Why was John failing? Right, poor memory. Memory can be improved. People aren't taught how to use what's in their heads, they don't learn how to **think** , so they just muddle along as best they can, like motorists who'd never been taught how to drive. John could learn to drive, learn to think, surely?_

(Sat 12:45am)  
Don’t leave. 

_He turned the syringe in his fingers. The light glittered off the liquid inside and the sharp, sharp tip of the needle. The tournequet was making his arm throb. Why do you say such silly things, John? You don't even know me. Why do you say such silly things? Why do you care? Why do you care about me?_

_His eyes fell on the scarf. It hadn't been made for him. It had been John's first attempt at knitting and he'd only given it to Sherlock to try to convince him to tell John something he had no business knowing. It was plush and felt nice and didn't itch._

_Why hadn't John been surprised? He'd told John that he was an addict and John hadn't sounded surprised._

_"You're the only good thing I have at the moment," John had said, "And I don't care if..." -- 'if you're an addict,' Sherlock's mindvoice finished for him. Why? Why doesn't it **matter** to you? It matters to everyone else. Everything that matters to everyone else, doesn't matter to you. Why? Why do you think I'm good? Why do you like me?_

_Why do I like you?_

_The scarf was plush and felt nice and didn't itch. He wouldn't wear it in public; he wore it when he was alone._

_He pressed the plunger and the liquid evacuated the barrel. He watched it drip from the needle and soak into the carpet. After a moment, he pulled the tournequet off and suppressed a hiss as blood flowed back into his arm. He put the syringe and tournequet back into the case and put the case back behind the utility panel. A moment later, he dumped the rest of the solution onto the carpet. Then he grabbed the scarf and wadded it into a ball, then curled into a ball around it on the bed._

_There was a tap on the door. He ignored it._

_The tap repeated then the door handle turned and the door cracked open. "Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice came softly. Sherlock didn't answer. He heard his brother creep into the room, quite unlike his usual bold strides. There was a clunk as he placed something on the night table. He hesitated, dithering, then very lightly touched Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't agree with Daddy," he said. He hesitated a moment longer before finally leaving. The door clicked shut behind him._

_Eventually, Sherlock finally uncurled enough to peer over his shoulder at the object Mycroft had set down. It was a netbook. Small, easily tucked into a pack, easily transported, useable keyboard. There was a piece of paper stuck between the halves; he pulled it out and saw that it was a printed receipt for the tuition for his online college, paid for out of Mycroft's savings account. There was a second receipt behind it, in Mycroft's name, this one for an online university, for the first courses towards a Master's degree in homeland security. On the back of it was written, in Mycroft's tidy cursive, "I wish this had been an option when I got my bachelor's. Thanks for the idea."_

He had barely enough strength to summon a small smile. Then he turned out the light and fell into an exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide attacks are a thing. They're usually tripped by an event. Unlike most suicidal attempts, they're not pre-meditated. They're spontaneous, they're sudden, and they're silent - you may never realise that the person is having a suicide attack, you may think they're just really upset. That's what makes them likely to succeed. If the person can weather the attack, the next day, they may seem fine. They usually won't talk about it. That's why suicide attacks are so little known, and yet so deadly. 
> 
> Where did this come from? - the clues in Pawtal's _A Finger Slip_ that Sherlock might be having an attack were his line "I want to disappear" and his willingness to talk voice while in distress. Literally, these may be the only hints that someone is in the grip of an attack, they are that silent. Often, the person having an attack knows it and knows they're irrational, but literally can't stop what's happening, they can't just switch it off. So they may cling to any port in the storm that they can find. 
> 
> I didn't write the story as a PSA. I wrote the story as always, from clues I read in _A Finger Slip_ , following the muse and the plotbunnies as they dictate. This end note is a PSA though, I figured since the story addresses something that isn't well known, I might as well. If you're prone to suicide attacks, you're not alone. Though little known, they are a recognised thing. Other people get them, you're not weird. I know it's hard - believe me, I know it's hard - but find that any little thing to cling to to get you through. Even if it's "I must see the next season of _Sherlock._ "
> 
> And if someone needs you to be that voice in the night talking about anything, stay calm, stay cool and just talk about anything. Just be that rock for them to cling to until the storm is past.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How's your sandwich? I presume you've reconciled, now that I'm no longer in the picture._

January 17

**Greg**

"Y'allo."

"It's me."

"How is he?"

"He's... in his room. I spoke to him but he ignored me. Actually I didn't really expect him to answer. I managed to recover most of the hard drive and transferred the data onto a netbook."

"Oh good. So he can continue his studies?"

"Well, 'continue'... By the look of it, he was very nearly finished."

" **What?** When did he enroll?"

"Enrolled in November, began his courses in December."

"And he's nearly finished??"

"He didn't have much further to go in any case, but yes. I estimate in another two or three months, he'll have his college A-levels."

"Christ! I knew he was a fast learner, but geez!"

"Indeed. Apparently all he needed was a more appropriate learning environment."

"Bonneville Flats, yeah, no kidding! How'd it go otherwise? I mean, how is **he**?"

".... It's... not good. My parents are talking about having him sectioned."

" **What?** Why??"

"They believe he's... disturbed."

"Yeah, he's disturbed alright. Mycroft, you can't let that happen! There's nothing wrong with Sherlock that getting out of your toxic family won't cure! I saw that when he was here. Don't let them do that to him!"

"My family is a bit critical but they're hardly toxic."

"A **bit** critical?! Mycroft, when was the last time they ever had anything **good** to say about him? Go on, you're the one with the fantastic super-memory, you tell me when was the last time you heard anybody **praise** Sherlock for something he'd done. When was the last time anybody told him he'd done something **right**?"

"....."

"It's like... drawing paper cuts all over your hands and never applying any ointment or plasters. It seems like a tiny thing but pile them up and pretty soon you're just a mass of cuts and pain. What do you think the drugs are **for**? They call it 'self-medicating' for a reason!"

"....."

"Mycroft, we've got to get him out of there somehow or he's going to die."

"I... ..... yes.. you're right...."

"Look, I'll talk to my 'rents again ...what?"

"You're right, I said you're right..."

"Mycroft, what's wrong? Did something happen? Mycroft??"

".....I think I'd better go and talk to my brother."

"O....kayyyyy.... Keep me in the loop, yeah?"

**Sherlock**

_"Can we talk?"_

_Sherlock didn't respond. He hadn't moved all night, though he had barely slept. He heard the floor creak as his brother edged gingerly around the wet patch on the carpet, then the bed sank as he sat down. He flinched when he felt a light touch on his arm and hoped that his t-shirt was dense enough to hide what surely felt like a bruise where the tournequet had bitten._

_"They're talking about having you sectioned," Mycroft said._

_"There's. Nothing. Wrong. With me," Sherlock growled._

_"I know," Mycroft agreed in a soft voice, "They think there is, but I don't agree with them. I think they're using you as a scapegoat to cover up for Daddy."_

_"Oh you **FINALLY** figured it out!"_

_"Shh, keep your voice down. Listen, there's another way. I know you won't like it but it offers the best solutions for you."_

_"What is it," Sherlock grated._

_"You enter a residential rehabilitation program." Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but Mycroft clapped his hand over, "Listen! You'll be able to work on your college courses, you'll be able to go to the lab if you take a recovery companion, you can take your violin, and you'll be away from here for at least three months. And it won't haunt you later in life the way that being sectioned will. I know you're already through withdrawal; Greg said you were hiding it."_

_"I'll be bored and dealing with idiots."_

_"Which is worse?" Mycroft's eyes flicked to the shadow beneath the fabric of Sherlock's t-shirt, "Dealing with well-meaning counsellors or staying here?"_

_Sherlock shrugged down his shirt sleeve, staring out the window, but he knew his brother had seen the bruise and noticed the broken syringe._

_"You'll have your courses to keep you occupied, though your internet usage will be closely monitored; they have a strict no-contact policy for the first four weeks. You won't be allowed your phone or any instant messenger or email devices. You'll be on your own but.... on the other hand, Mummy and Daddy will be unable to talk to you," Mycroft smiled, "Whereas if you're sectioned, they can be in and out whenever they please, during hospital visiting hours!"_

_Sherlock thought about it. He'd still be a prisoner and he'd be bored, although the counselling techniques might be fun to analyse and play with, depending on what they used. So these were his choices: Rehab, psychiatric hospital, or cardboard shipping box in an alley somewhere. Possibly a shelter if he was lucky. Ugh. Any place was better than here.... "You're certain they'll let me continue my courses?"_

_"Yes. I made sure of that. Although I suggest you bring the practice violin, rather than the Stradivarius."_

_Sherlock snerked - as if he'd be that stupid. One could buy an awful lot of snow for a Strad. No phone, though, no contact with anyone outside of the facility. That meant no Mummy and Daddy, no Grandma, no aunts, uncles, cousins, or snoopy brothers. Or Greg. ........no John._

_......But he'd already told John goodbye. He'd already cut the cord, as he'd said he'd wanted to. Maybe this would cut it permanently and he wouldn't have to worry anymore. No repeats of Victor._

_"...Alright."_

**Greg**

"I'm afraid you won't be hearing from Sherlock for a while, nor will you be able to contact him."

"What's going on?"

"He has agreed to enter a residential rehabilitation facility."

"You put him in **rehab?!** "

"My parents were surprisingly resistant to the idea. Quite... resistant."

Poor Mycroft, he sounded so bewildered. Greg grinned a grin that had nothing to do with amusement, "They really **like** the idea that he's mentally ill, don't they."

"I... would have thought..."

"Mycroft, they **want** him to be mentally ill so they can absolve themselves of their own responsibility for him! I've seen them play the 'poor poor pitiful we' card with him, they **want** him to be the identified patient so they can claim they had no responsibility in how he's turning out!"

"If you think I **wanted** this..."

"No, you didn't want to do this. You don't want him to leave, because whenever he leaves, your parents turn their self-righteous needling onto **you.** That's why you want him at home all the time, that's why you always take their si--*"

~~Disconnected~~

(Sat 9:24pm)  
No, you don't get to cut me off either.

(Sat 9:25pm)  
I've known your family for a long time. I've observed. You take their side against Sherlock because if you don't, they come down on you even harder. 

(Sat 9:27pm)  
It's deflection. It's a survival technique. Make sure he takes it out on the other guy, not on you.

(Sat 9:28pm)  
Running from the truth doesn't make it go away.

(Sat 9:29pm)  
Neither does shooting up. Neither does eating your pain. You know that sugar has been proven to be as addictive as cocaine? 

(Sat 9:30pm)  
You're both addicted to white crystalline substances.

(Sat 9:31pm)  
You've gained half a stone since Christmas. 

(Sat 9:32pm)  
Over the past year, you've gained more weight than Sherlock has lost.

(Sat 9:34pm)  
You both need to get out of there. It's killing both of you.  
(Sat 9:34pm)  
 **Number is unavailable**

(Sat 9:35pm)  
Switching me off isn't going to erase the truth, either.  
(Sat 9:35pm)  
 **Number is unavailable**

 

January 20

**John**

So that was Greg, Giver of Shit Advice. John snapped his phone away, annoyed.

Well.... at least he was also Greg, Giver of Not-Really-Reassuring Reassurance. Sherlock was 'alright,' whatever that meant. Alive, presumably. Conscious? Functioning? Trussed up in a padded room somewhere? 'Under supervision', what the hell did that mean? 'You don't have to worry', yes well fuck you, Greg Giver of Shit Advice, fuck you, I will do just the opposite, thankyouverymuch, and worry like fuck!

Fuck.

Sherlock... What the hell is happening?

**Sherlock**

_Bored bored bored bored **bored** bored bored bored BORED bored bored bored  bored bored bored BORED bored bored bored **bored.**_

_And they have crap for tea._

_I never used to drink tea, now I know crap tea when I taste it. What have you done to me?_

 

January 21

**John**

"How's your freaky friend?"

I will not punch her. I will not punch her. I will not punch her. I will smile and shrug and say, "He's not feeling so hot right now."

"Really? Not surprised - he doesn't feel anything at all. He's as cold as a shark!"

"And he has the most fabulous scarf ever!"

"What?"

"Except he had to burn it for firewood. It's tragic, really."

"What the hell are you on about? God, you're as freaky as he is!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

**Sherlock**

_Rehab is boring. Even you would think so. Although there are girls. It could be amusing to watch you hitting on them. I doubt it would go over well. A few of them have tried hitting on me; it hasn't gone over well._

_No, it hasn't gone over well when a few of the blokes have tried hitting on me, either._

 

January 23

**Sherlock**

_Right about now, you'd be texting me to ask for advice regarding the contents of your sandwich. Which I still regard as a foolish activity, by the by, so I don't understand why I'm even thinking about it._

_You're probably upset and probably worrying, even though you shouldn't be. Worrying about me is also a foolish activity. Look where it got Mycroft; a few more stone and he won't need a pillow to play Father Christmas._

 

January 25

**John**

"Heya, John!"

"Norm! Hi! How are you?"

"Pretty good, yourself? Got a shift today?"

"No, tomorrow, though."

"You want to catch some tea?"

"Hmm, how do they catch tea? Do they set out snares or bait little tea traps? What do they bait the traps with?"

"Haha! You always come up with the weirdest ideas. Seriously though, you look a bit head-down. What's up?"

"A lot of things," John sighed. Then he looked at Norm, remembering that he was well into his stream in psychology. "Norm, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"...Are there any, I don't know, long-term effects from long time bullying? I mean, if someone's been picked on all their lives, is that going to affect them?"

"Oh heck yes! A person becomes very distrusting, for one thing, they can become very stand-offish until they've had time to assess you properly. Especially if they've had a few 'false friends', they may become really skittish and not want to risk letting anybody in."

John nodded - that sounded exactly like what he was dealing with. "What's a false friend?"

"One of the worst types of bullies: They pretend to befriend the person then subject them to various humiliations and abuses. If the person protests, the false friend tells them they're just joking around, they're over-reacting, stop being so sensitive, and so on. The person either gives in and accepts that this is how friendships are, setting themselves up for later in life, or else they reject all friendships."

"And if they start to feel themselves becoming invested in someone..."

"They may panic. They may even try to push that person away."

John nodded, "Yeah. That sounds right."

Norm glanced at him askance, "If a person's been rejected since childhood, deep down, it becomes their reality. They come to believe the things that have been said about them - they've been said so often, they must be true, right? The effects can be softened if they have a supportive home life.."

"He doesn't."

Norm nodded sadly, "Then the chances are higher the person's reality has become that they are unlikeable. When that happens, they may start to **create** that reality, because that's become their sense of identity. It's purely an unconscious reaction, but it's become that person's comfort zone."

"Then what can I do?" John yelped, his heart suddenly leaping into his throat, "He's cut me off entirely, he won't answer my texts. He kept telling me the whole thing was a mistake."

"You like him?"

**"Yes!"**

Norm nodded again, "If his sense of identity has become that he's an unlikeable person, he may have trouble believing that you like him. He may be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He may have decided to take pre-emptive action, drop you before you can get the drop on him. To spare himself pain."

"But....then what can I do?" John sounded so helpless, even to himself, "His other 'friend', and I'm using that word kind of loosely, said to move on but... I can't just..."

"Then don't."

**Sherlock**

_One of the women heard me playing my old practice violin. She used to play. She asked and they brought one in for her. It's cheap crap and sounds appalling but she was rusty anyways and it made her happy enough. We played Glass's "Violin Concerto no. 1" together. It sounded ghastly. The therapists here want us to continue. 'Music therapy,' they call it._

_Have you ever thought about the word 'therapist?' It breaks down into the-rapist. Given that they want to go snooping around in one's mind whether you want them to or not (and I don't), I find it rather accurate. They want me to talk to them, as if that's going to make any difference. They don't like that I'm not a people person. On the plus side, there are several not-people people here, so I'm not the only one they take it out on._

 

January 26

**Sherlock**

_Whyyyyy are people so **stupid**? And of course, it's my fault that her step-father was slipping her crystal._

 

January 27

**John**

"How's your friend the freak?"

I will not throw this latte in her face. I will not throw this latte in her face. I will not throw this latte in her face. 

"Still my friend," - whether he wants me to be or not - "And still not a freak, thanks for asking."

Actually, I **should** be thanking you, for reminding me of why I shouldn't give up on Sherlock. Pretty sure people like you are the reason he's avoiding me now.

**Sherlock**

_My therapist keeps wanting me to talk about my feelings. I told her I don't have any to talk about. I told her I have only two feelings: Good, which I am seldom, and not-good, which I am always. She asked what made me feel good. I told her the same thing I told you. She said what people always say. What you didn't say. I don't understand why you were so different. I didn't tell her that your texts made me feel good. Or your dictionary or your silly scarf or spamming you with horse pictures. That's none of her business._

_Not texting you makes me feel not-good, but you're better off this way. We both are. You won't understand why, nobody ever does, but it's true. To be honest, I have more in common with the other addicts. Except nearly all of them are idiots._

 

January 28

**Sherlock**

_I don't hate it here because there are some good points about it. My parents have tried several times to come and "visit" me and they won't let them._

 

January 29

**Sherlock**

_I don't like it here but I don't hate it here. They let me work on my courses but they only let me go to the lab if I take a babysitter. Unfortunately I have a different babysitter every time. Some of them are okay, some can't stand me, some can't stand the lab and want to leave as soon as possible. It's annoying. I can't get anywhere near enough work done on those days._

 

January 30

**Sherlock**

_I got on with my lab partner yesterday. He wasn't a people person either. He didn't want to talk, he just wanted to get on with the work, same as I did. He didn't even ask about my babysitter. We got a lot of work done. We got into quite a spirited debate about the results of one experiment and he didn't call me any names. He didn't even seem angry about it. Amazing. I'll probably never see him again. Unfortunate, it was rather nice having a properly focused lab partner._

 

February 1

**Sherlock**

_My father is here and they just called Security._

_**Oh my god they just escorted him off the grounds!** Suddenly I love this place._

_My therapist just asked me how I felt about that. I told her I will sell my Stradivarius and buy a lifetime's worth of heroin if I can stay here. She thought I was joking._

 

February 2

**John**

"Johnny? Are you okay? You look sad lately."

"Oh.. hi Harry.. Is it that noticeable? Sorry."

"What's wrong? Is it your grades again?"

"And that too," John sighed, "I miss my friend."

"The texting bloke? What happened?"

"He said he wanted to disappear and I think he has."

Harry sat chewing her lip and looking down, as though she heard more in the statement than John did. "I'm sorry," she said finally.

**Sherlock**

_My therapists have finally figured out that my parents might be contributing factors in my addiction. I don't know whether to applaud, cry, or bludgeon myself with a lava lamp._

 

February 4

**Sherlock**

_Apparently I'm causing trouble again, as if it was me who planted hash in Roger's belongings and framed him for a relapse. I knew it was Todd, it was obvious. Not to anyone else, of course. The whole lot of them are unobservant idiots. And these are the people put in charge of our sobriety, oh yes. It's a wonder this place has any kind of a success rate at all._

_Did you know that cognitive behaviour therapy leaves itself terribly open to manipulation? Mycroft would have a field day with it._

_Dr. Daniels just came in and told me I did the right thing. Now I'm confused. First I'm causing trouble, now I did the right thing. Can nobody make up their minds? People just make no sense at all._

_And I keep thinking like I'm texting you. Quite possibly I **am** insane. Don't tell anybody, though, the psychiatric hospital has visiting hours._

**Greg**

"How is Sherlock doing?"

"I don't know. The centre has a strict no-contact policy for the first four weeks, something my parents are not pleased with. They kicked Daddy off the property."

"Oh my god!! Ahahahahaha!! That's brilliant."

"He was furious."

"I guess! Did he take it out on you?"

"....."

"Oh god, he **did** take it out on you!"

".....The centre called today. They said they have reason to believe that our home environment is a contributing factor to Sherlock's addiction and wish to start a schedule of family counselling."

"......I take it by your voice that this went over like a lead zeppelin."

"An accurate, if colourful, assessment."

 

February 6

**Sherlock**

_One of the girls went missing. They think she's run away but it's so obvious that she hasn't. It's so obvious but try telling that to the police. Incompetant idiots, the lot of them._

_Beth's music has gotten better. Her violin still sounds atrocious but her playing has improved so it's tolerable. They'll be releasing her on Saturday. She says she owes me for helping her through it. She was so.... **grateful** , I guess. Like I'd done something monumentous, rather than just put up with her egregious violin torture. I really don't know what to think about it. _

_Roger's acting grateful too. Honestly, though, it was obvious that Todd had set him up, nor was Roger the first. If anybody around here actually used their brains, they could have seen that._

_~_

_They found Tracy. I kept telling them her sober companion was a predator but did anybody listen? Just because he's sober doesn't mean he's good. Why did they think he was so eager? Why did they think he only wanted to partner with the young girls? He always turned down partnering with the boys, the men and the adult women. Honestly, it was so obvious._

_How's your sandwich? I presume you've reconciled, now that I'm no longer in the picture._

 

February 7

**John**

John lay on his back on his bed, listening to his parents arguing about Harry. Harry's partying, Harry's drinking, Harry's girlfriend, Harry's sexual orientation. Harry's reputation. Their family's reputation. John's reputation. John wanted to be a doctor, they had to think about his reputation. 

He lay on his back on his bed and listened until something deep in his soul snapped back like a willow and he reached for his mobile.

 

February 8

**Sherlock**

_They just sacked Dr. Collier. Drinking on the job. His excuse? - he has to listen to a bunch of addicts tell their sob stories all day. 'That's enough to drive anyone to drink', he said. Well fornicate thine own self, Dr. Collier, while I'm forced to agree on some level, nonetheless listening to **you** made each and every one of us want to shoot up to drown out your relentless pontificating. _

_Oh and it's my fault, as usual. He was hiding the bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk! Even the sitcoms know that one._

_He'd released Carla into the care of her step-father. Yes, the one who was slipping her crystal. The New Scotland Yokels are investigating, such as they're able._

_If you want to stay in your cosy little hedgehog heaven, don't come to rehab. Stay in your ignorant bliss of pub quizzes, horse girls, bad grades and paninis. Here, there's only the rot that the blissful surface hides. I feel comfortable here. I suppose that should be unsettling but it isn't. That's all the more reason why you're better off without me._

 

February 9

**Sherlock**

_Carla's going to live with a distant aunt in the Borders, since her mother is plainly incompetant. The enquiries are continuing but they've got enough to make a strong case, apparently. She came by to say goodbye and to thank me, as if I'd done something special._

 

February 13

**Greg**

"Y'allo."

"It's me. They're releasing him on Friday."

"Oh good!"

"......."

"Not good?"

"It seems that in the time he has been there, he has uncovered a smuggling ring, exposed a sexual predator who had gotten through their background checks, revealed several cases of active substance abuse among the therapists, rescued a girl who'd been sent there by her mother from her step-father who was creating her addiction for purposes better left unsaid, and necessitated the review of relapse expulsions going back several months due to uncovering a frame artist and will you stop that horrible **braying** noise! It hurts my ears."

"Ahahahahaha!! Oh my god! And he hasn't even been there a month!"

"Quite. They'd like him to leave before he creates any more upheavals."

"Wait, **what?** He helps them clean house and they're kicking him out??"

"The police would like to speak with him as well. Apparently they have decided the level of insight he had about the crimes could only have come from insider knowledge and they consider him a person of interest."

"AHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!! Oh my god! He just can't catch a break, can he?"

 

February 15

**Sherlock**

_It's been a month and he's **still** texting me?! What is it with this idiot? Is he completely mental or just dumb? I haven't even been here! _

_Sherlock shook his head in disbelief as he scrolled backwards through the text messages. 'Fuck you, Sherlock Holmes', **yes** , that's the right attitude! Finally! Why did you have to go and ruin it with a silly Valentine's greeting? Although you were right, I loathe Valentine's day. I simply do not understand how people can celebrate a pedophile priest with roses and chocolates. _

_He paused, staring at the small screen - John had had another of his moments of profound wisdom that astonished Sherlock with his clarity. 'I needed to understand about as much as you needed to leave. None at all.' He shook his head and motioned to throw the mobile onto the bed but then changed his mind and continued to scroll back. 'But for some reason, things have always been different with you.' **Why??** **Why** were they so different? It was maddening! It was ridiculous!_

_I can't believe I missed this stupid hedgehog, he thought as he scrolled._

_Then his mind flashed him the image of himself, tiny and trapped inside his mobile and pounding on the gorilla glass. It helpfully provided a soundtrack of "The Ballad of Gilligan's Island" and he couldn't help himself - he started giggling._

_I can't believe I've missed this stupid hedgehog. This is all wrong. You really are better off without me and you're too stupid to realise that. For your own sake, **stop texting me!**_

**Greg**

"Can **I** come and sleep on your couch?"

"Oh no..."

"He's not even home fifteen minutes and they've started in on him!"

"Seeing it now?"

".....A little, yes."

"I've got to go. My Mum just came home. I'm going to talk to her."

~Disconnected~ 

 

February 16

**Sherlock**

_~New Voice Mail~_

_Sherlock thumbed the notification and stared at the hedgehog sandwich icon._

_....When I said to stop texting me, that wasn't what I meant, he thought, shaking his head. Oh well. Probably a good thing that he'd just missed the call._

 

February 18

**Greg**

"Y'allo."

"Tell me he's at yours again!"

"Who, Sherlock? If I did that, I would be telling a lie. Wait, you don't mean he's..."

"I'm such a fool, I completely failed to notice."

"Mycroft, slow down, what happened? Notice what?"

"He had his practice violin while he was at the residential centre. He had it in the cab on the way home, but when he entered the house, I failed to notice that he did not have it with him."

"So.... what? He left it in the cab?"

"He hid it in the garden shed, with the intention of collecting it when he left again."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"He hid it beneath.. Never mind, I am quite certain!"

"Are you sure he didn't just go back to rehab?"

"He took his phone with him."

"...Alright, I'll see what I can do."

**Sherlock**

_He was at the youth shelter, working on his courses, when his mobile rang. Seeing that it was Greg, he took the call. The ensuing conversation left him feeling agitated and... not-good. Why couldn't anybody understand?? It wasn't that difficult, was it?_

_A pair of trainers shuffled into his line of sight and he looked up. "'S almost lab time," Conner said, "You ready to go?"_

_"Yes," he replied, closing his netbook._

_"Tell me more about this 'mind palace' thing? Like, how do you remember chemical formulas and physics formulas and stuff....?"_

 

February 20

**John**

John stared at the message he'd tapped onto his mobile. He kept thinking about Sally. He kept thinking about what she'd said. "He'll always let you down," she'd said. 

She'd been right about the drugs. Looked like - maybe - she was right about this. 

He pressed send anyways.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Goodbye, John. Stay silly. Thanks for the tea._

**Greg**

"Mycroft told me what happened."

"Ah."

"How you got kicked out of rehab."

"..."

"Unbelievable!"

"..."

"You uncover all of that criminal activity and that's the thanks you get."

"..."

"And people wonder why nobody does the right thing anymore."

"...Dr. Daniels said I did the right thing."

"You **did** do the right thing."

"..."

"Unbelievable."

"..."

"Rocky missed you."

"..."

**Sherlock**

_"What're you drawing?"_

_"I'm not drawing. I'm taking notes."_

_"...That's a weird way of making notes."_

_"..."_

_"Does it work?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Can I see?"_

_"If you like."_

_"....... Um, do the colours mean anything?"_

_"They show other types of relationships. In that case, substances with applications in forensics."_

_"Oh..... **Oh!** I get it now! Cool!"_

_"..."_

_"Can I try this?"_

_"I don't own the concept. Do as you wish."_

**Greg**

"Are you ever going to talk to me about it?"

He watched as Sherlock took a long drag off his cigarette, blew out the smoke in a gusty sigh, and looked away.

"What is there to talk about?"

**Mycroft**

_ "You're certain you don't know where he goes?" _

_ "I... know. I'm not happy about it but it's... safe." _

_ "And exactly how do you define 'significant-pause safe', Greg?" _

_ "Safer than staying at yours. Look, I'd be happier if he could stay at mine again but my 'rents say--*" _

_ "Is it money?" Mycroft interrupted, "If the issue is cost, I can arrange for his upkeep." _

_ ".........I'll try talking to them again." _

**Sherlock**

_Four of them had taken the first of their A-level exams; two had come back to the shelter - one of them was Sherlock. There was a subtle tension around the staff but he was too tired to be more than aware of it. He went straight to his bunk in the dormitory and flopped down. He drifted for an hour or so, until the supper bells disturbed him._

_The tension was still subtle but he was more aware of it, as he returned to his bunk. He glanced up as Daniel trudged in and sat down on his bunk, chewing his lip. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked._

_Daniel glanced at him then looked away, "Nobody still hasn't seen Kelsey."_

_Sherlock sat up, instantly alert. "What do you mean?" he asked, not even bothering to correct the other youth's grammar. He opened his netbook, "When was she last seen?"_

_"She was..... at work."_

_Sherlock's lips thinned - Kelsey was one of many girls who worked in the sex industry, a population that most people viewed as disposable. They were the prey of choice for many types of predators for that reason. "Tell me everything you can. Who saw her last, what she was wearing, where she was last seen - everything. What you don't know, try to find out who does."_

_Daniel was too stunned to protest, "O-okay..."_

_After several hours of intense interviewing, data entry, cross-referencing and Google-fu, Sherlock excitedly announced, "I think I've got something. Hand me my phone. It's in my coat pocket."_

_After a few moments, Daniel shook his head, "It's not here."_

_Sherlock's head snapped up, "What?"_

_"Is there some other pockets on the inside, maybe?"_

_Sherlock shot up and snatched the coat from him, again not bothering to correct Daniel's grammar. A frenzied search proved the coat phoneless. Could it have fallen out, perhaps? No, he had it when he entered the shelter, he'd just texted Greg. So where did..._

_Two hours dozing on his bunk, inattentive of his belongings. He'd been protective of the netbook, but neglected to consider the coat. The newest model, appearances being so very important to Mummy and Daddy. Forever critical of their children but made sure they had the latest gadgets. Of course his phone had been stolen._

_He sank down to his bunk as the implications sank in. No more silly little hedgehog. He'd said goodbye weeks ago but now providence had ensured it was for keeps._

_Goodbye, John. Stay silly. Thanks for the tea._

_He blinked and cleared his mind - he had more pressing issues right now. "Find a phone and text Inspector Dimmock at the Yard. Tell him Sherlock Holmes has a lead on a missing person...."_

 

**Mycroft**

_"I'm busy, Greg."_

_"Lately you're always busy."_

_"Lately, I have a lot to do."_

_"No, you **create** a lot to do. How is the enquiry going?"_

_"....Not good."_

_"Oh. Sherlock?"_

_"...Right now, he's better off wherever he is."_

_"Uh, I know where he is and that's pretty bad."_

_"...oh crap... I have to go."_

_"What did you s--Mycroft? **Mycroft!** "_

 

**Sherlock**

_"Yes, Conner?"_

_"...I got a B."_

_"..."_

_"Um... I just... thought I'd thank you... It's the highest I've ever got before."_

_"..... You're welcome."_

 

**Mycroft**

_ Daddy didn't usually yell at him; he saved that for Sherlock. Mycroft received withering sneers and cuttingly sad remarks about disappointment and responsibility and failure in his duty. "The guilt trap," Greg had called it. Then they'd send him off to "think about it" and he would collect his coat and go. Sometimes for a walk; sometimes to the garden shed.  _

_ Where he kept the spoon and the candle well hidden. _

**Sherlock**

_"Where's that Sherlock Holmes kid?"_

_"Here."_

_"They.... They found Kelsey. Coppers want to talk to you. There's a car waiting."_

**Mycroft**

_ He lit the candle and started the spoon heating. It was the work of a moment to pry the lid off the container, despite the cold.  _

_ The hot spoon slid through the dark brown substance like it was butter. It sizzled slightly. _

_ The door of the shed flung open and he stared up in guilty shock at the tall figure silhouetted against the dim light. For a moment, the silence drowned out the world.  _

_ Then Sherlock stepped into the shed and closed the door behind him. He flopped down onto the sacks beside Mycroft, then snatched the container from his hands, thrust his finger into it and popped the glob of chocolate frosting into his mouth. Mycroft took the frosting jar back with a grunt. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be encouraging me," he said grudgingly.  _

_ "It's worse than that," Sherlock dug into his pocket and withdrew a greased-paper bag, "I'm dealing. The police gave me doughnuts." _

_ Mycroft snorted, but took the offering. "Of course they did. What police?" _

_ "One of the girls disappeared. They found her body and the man who took her, right where I said they would. They called that suspicious, brought me in, interviewed me, decided I had nothing to do with it and brought me home." _

_ "...Are you going to run away again?" _

_ Even in the darkness, he could tell when Sherlock was giving him a Look. "You're out here **inhaling** a tin of frosting **and** a bag of police-issue doughnuts." _

_ "Touche," Mycroft's voice gave grudging evidence of his blush. He sucked another mouthful of frosting off the warm spoon. After several minutes in silence, he asked, "Is this about Victor?" _

_ "Shut up," Sherlock snapped. _

 

**Greg**

"Hey, Sherlock! Wait up!"

"What do you want?"

"I haven't seen you in a while? And Rocky misses you."

"Yes, I can tell."

"Oh god, Rocky, people's legs are **not** your plastic girlfriends, okay?? Sorry about that.. silly dog."

"Is there a point to this?"

"You haven't been answering your texts."

"I have my reasons."

"Well, I have my reasons for texting you, I've been trying to get ahold of you. My 'rents have agreed to put you up again and my uncle Pete's offered to put you up, no questions."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he once spent three months living in a treehouse."

"..."

"Have you heard from John recently."

"..."

"..."

"No."

**Sherlock**

_"Hey!"_

_Sherlock startled at the tap on his shoulder and swung around. He stepped back a pace, recognising the older man as a lab partner he'd had a while ago. "Hello again. Gerry, was it?"_

_"You remember me!" the man beamed, "Hey, I wanted to thank you. I've been doing that thing you told me about and I think it's working! I'm pretty sure I aced this exam! And I **still** remember the pink hippopotamus!"_

_Sherlock smiled a little, not sure how to respond. "That's... good. Good luck."_

_He shouldered his pack again and stepped out of the exam room into the bustling halls of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Two more exams and he'd have his A-levels. His grades had been coming back higher than ever - amazing what a little peace and quiet and an absence of idiot classmates could do for a man's grades. He walked outside, heading towards the Tube station. He wasn't sure what made him look around and notice the kid on the corner, glancing around strangely and fidgeting._

_Until he glanced up to see two angry ice blue eyes towering over him. "I believe you took something of mine," Sherlock snarled, "Where is it?"_

_"Fuck you!" the kid blurted and ran. Sherlock bolted after him but the kid was fast. He skidded around a corner in time to see the kid pitch an object - **his phone** \- into the street in front of the hospital where it was_

_...immediately crushed under a lorry._

_The light changed and the lorry moved off. Sherlock darted into the street and searched the fragments, desperately hoping that the SIM card had survived, praying that it hadn't been crushed like the rest of the mobile. If the SIM card had survived, maybe he could transfer it to a new phone. Maybe he could find John's number, maybe he could explain where he'd been, why he hadn't been able to contact him. If the SIM card had survived._

_But it hadn't._

**Greg**

"Mycroft, has Sherlock texted you recently?"

"He's not one for frequent contact with me, but now that you mention it, no, he hasn't."

"Has he phoned?"

"No. You know he prefers to text. ....... I see."

"Yeah. Has something happened?"

"Not... that I'm aware of."

**Sherlock**

_Is it a mistake if everything seems to be agreeing with you? I've never believed in God or Fate or any of that, but first the rehab centre prohibiting my mobile, then it gets stolen, then it gets crushed in front of Barts and the SIM card is destroyed. I said goodbye to the silly little sandwich hedgehog and now even the SIM card is destroyed. It's just as well. He's better off with out me. And I'm better off without him, I suppose. I'm better off alone._

_...Alright, alone apart from you but you're a silly mutt who thinks my leg is useful for masturbating against. Sod off, Rocky, you're not my type. Oh come back here... If you absolutely must have a cuddle, yes you can ***oof!!*** Crush the breath out of me with your weight, how do you OH GOD suffocate me with your doggy breath.. Just lie down, you silly creature._

_I don't want another Victor in my life. I don't want to go through that again. I'd rather be alone. Alone protects me._

_I wish it didn't have to be this way._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are the odds of you being sent to a hot zone? - One in a million, right?"

April 29

**Greg**

"C'mon Rocky, good boy... Sit! Stay! Good dog! ...get this on you... Okay, ready?? Let's go!! C'mon, boy, let's go!!"

Greg didn't often admit it but walking Rocky was one of the high points of his day. Just him and his dog. Anybody they met tended to be friendly and interested in talking about dogs. It was simple, refreshing, and as unlike the political cesspool of college as one could care to get. 

His mobile rang and he winced as he recognised the ringtone. Speaking of political cesspools.... 

"'Evening, Mycroft... Yes. Nope, not doing anything, just out for a walk with Rocky. No? What, the rehab place? Oh yes? Don't they do mainly therapy though? Addictions counselling? Oh. Can they actually do that? I don't know, my uncle said... Oh **really!** Okay, so what's the verdict?"

Then he stopped dead in his tracks, startling Rocky, and his jaw fell open in shock.

"They called him a **what?!** "

 

May 1

**John**

"Military? Are you sure?" Norm said.

"I'm sure," John sighed for the umpteenth time, "It's the only way. We can't afford to send me to university. There's no other way. The military will pay for me to become a doctor."

Norm hesitated for a moment. "Recruiters lie, John," he said at last.

John nodded. "I know that too."

 

**Greg**

"Hey what did he do with that silly scarf, anyways?"

"Oh he still has it," Mycroft replied, swilling a carrot stick into the little dish of hummus, "I saw him tuck it into his pack before he left yesterday morning."

"Where did he go?"

"No idea."

"Huh. So he takes the scarf with him but he still won't talk to the bloke?"

"I believe I may have some insight into that. I believe it has to do with Victor."

"Who's Victor?"

"Victor Trevor, a boy Sherlock knew in middle school. He was the first friend Sherlock had but his notion of friendship was not very friendly. He and his friend Sebastian played rather a lot of 'jokes' on Sherlock that really weren't very nice. If he tried to protest his treatment, they told him they were just joking and that was what friends do, despite that they never treated each other in the same manner."

"So he got more of what he gets at home," Greg nodded, noting how Mycroft paused in shock for a moment. "Wonderful. **Now** I get it. His family who 'love' him treat him like shit then his friends who 'like' him treat him like shit, for Christ's sake, Mycroft, can you **still** not see what the problem is?? Now he thinks that anybody who says they care about him is going to treat him like shit!"

Mycroft had stopped eating and was staring at the hummus, expressionless. Greg ran his hands through his hair and blew out a gusty sigh, "Fucking hell. It's no wonder he keeps pushing people away."

Mycroft swilled the carrot in the hummus, making little patterns. "...I don't know how to get him to see that John is not like Victor and Sebastian. For one thing, Victor would never have knitted him a scarf, nor texted him for a month without response."

Greg sighed again. "I'll try to talk to him."

 

May 3

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock snapped the phone off and stared at it. Note to self, he thought, Never drop acid. It gives some very **strange** perceptions._

_Because clearly that was what Greg had been doing. Sherlock had seen enough at the rehab facility and at the youth shelter. Either acid or maybe morphine, something heavily hallucinogenic that distorted the perceptions enough to produce something as ridiculously abstract as attempting to describe Sherlock as a pie. Where in the world was he going with that, anyways? Who knew; more importantly, who cared. Acid. Definitely. Stay far away from acid._

_He looked up as the education officer emerged from the examination room and began reading off a list of names. His own was on it._

_When these exams were over, he would have his A-levels. He gathered up his things and went into the room._

 

**John**

"You know they think you're going off to get killed, right?"

John snapped his book shut but was unable to keep the grin off his face, "Thank you, Captain Blunt Force Trauma, Harriet."

"It's true," Harry grinned.

"I know it's true."

"They're worried they're not going to have **any** grandchildren at all."

"Now that's an aspect I hadn't thought about," John agreed. 

"What with me being a dyke and you going off to get killed."

"Harry!!" John laughed, "Stop it, you sound just like Sherlock."

Harry giggled and sat down beside him, "How's he doing, anyways? Heard from him yet?"

"No," John sighed, "I don't know how he is. His friend the Giver of Shit Advice said he was fine and 'under supervision,'" he mimed air quotes, "But what does that even mean?"

Harry nodded sadly, "Any number of things."

 

May 5

**John**

John sighed. He'd done his research and searched his gut but the answer came up the same. He looked at his phone again. I really, really wish you would talk to me again, he thought, I could use your snarky level head right now.

He passed a customer their panini then went to the back to take his break. He looked at his coworker and tipped his head, "Joanna, did you say you had a cousin in the army? Do you think I could talk to him some time?"

 

May 8

**Mycroft**

_ Mycroft looked up as Sherlock entered his room. His little brother looked apprehensive and defiant, carrying a paper in his hand... Mycroft started to smile. He took the offered page and read it, then his smile spread into a grin.  _

_ "Higher than ever," he smiled at his brother's grade results. "Congratulations," he said, remembering Greg's succinct words, "I wish that had been an option when I was in school. Much less tedious. There were times you seemed almost to be having fun." He watched as Sherlock visibly relaxed, seeing the tension drain out of his little brother's shoulders. "Have you told John?" _

_ And the tension snapped back again. "No," Sherlock snarled.  _

_ Mycroft's heart sank. "Why not? - oh. If you've lost his number..." _

_ "I don't need him digging his spoons into me again!" Sherlock snapped and flounced out. _

_ Mycroft stalled for several moments, trying unsuccessfully to parse that. He stared after his brother for a moment then reached for his phone.  _

_ Then he rolled his eyes in disbelieving exasperation. "You called him a **what?** " he demanded of the text messages, " **Why** would you do that?" His fingers flew over the keys as he texted back and forth, getting only ridiculous non-answers about pie and being fruitful and he still had no idea where spoons fit into it. What he did get was that Greg had been no help at all.  _

_ The voices began to rise. "Oh for God's sake," Mycroft sighed and slapped down his phone. On this, he felt his parents were being completely unreasonable. Mycroft had done his research and Sherlock's A-levels were as valid and respectable as any he could have gotten from a brick-and-mortar school. One of the redbrick universities was offering online degrees; Mycroft had asked about and been delighted to learn that if he took a Master's degree, it would be as respected as his Bachelor's degree had been -- happy news indeed for someone who shared his little brother's sensory sensitivities and preference for solitude.  _

_ "I don't see what the problem is," Mycroft said as he stormed down the stairs, "You wanted Sherlock to find a new college and get his A-levels; Sherlock has done so and he's passed with exceptional grades. He has done what you demanded of him." _

_ "Don't tell me he's suckered you into his foolishness as well? Really, Mycroft?" _

_ Only Sherlock could see how their father's withering tone cut into Mycroft. Mycroft had **never** stood up to him before. His little brother was staring at him in disbelief; he'd **never** taken Sherlock's side in **anything.** _

_ "Really, Mycroft, I expected so much better from you," their father was saying, "I expected you to be responsible. You're supposed to be guiding your little brother away from these foolish pursuits, not following him down his path of lunacy." _

_ Mycroft remembered the bruise on Sherlock's arm above his elbow, the broken syringe, the wet spot on the carpet that was definitely not water, and the way Sherlock had curled around a plush, ugly scarf -- and all of the will and strength that would later propell him into one of the most clandestine positions the British government had ever created suddenly roared up inside him, pulling him up to his full height and bulk and the cobra he would someday become was suddenly staring into his father's eyes. "Do keep up, Father," Mycroft retorted, not flinching when their father gasped at his own epithet flung back at him, "It's not foolishness. Unlike you, it's modern." _

**Greg**

Greg stared. Mycroft was inhaling the banana split sundae so rapidly, he wondered whether the older Holmes boy was even pausing to chew. "Jesus, Mycroft, slow down! If you start choking, I will never live down all the Mama Cass jokes."

"Oh, do be quiet."

Greg snickered, "If you were Sherlock, you'd just have snarled 'Shut up.'"

"Shut up, then."

"Jeez, what happened??"

"Sherlock's achieved his A-levels through the online college. His grades are nearly perfect."

Greg goggled and broke into a wide grin, "That's great!!"

"Daddy didn't think so."

"Why, because they were **nearly** perfect?"

"No, because it's an online college. He doesn't believe that it's valid but it is. I... may have told him that."

Greg sat up, blinking, "What d'you mean? You don't mean you... You told off your old man?!"

"...yes..."

"You told off your father and stood up for Sherlock?" He watched Mycroft flush with shame. "Jesus Christ, Mycroft, **it's about fucking time!** " Mycroft seemed to shrink in bulk, even as his sundae consumption rate accelerated. "Don't you realise how much he needs that?"

"I...'m starting to see the situation differently."

 

May 9

**John**

"...I mean, they always need medical personnel so they won't likely screw you out of that."

John nodded, feeling encouraged. Joanna's cousin had been quite happy to come down to the cafe and talk about his life serving Queen and country. More and more, this was looking like the direction where John needed to go.

"And there's a lot of careers to go into, too," the man was saying, "I've got a few mates in the medical corps, if you want, I can hook you up with them."

"That'd be brilliant, Frank, thank you. If you can do that, I'd be indebted."

Frank nodded vigorously, "Naw, it's no problem. And don't let your folks try to frighten you, odds are you'll just end up working out at a base somewhere. There isn't really a lot going on right now."

"That's true," John agreed.

"And even if there was, what are the odds of you being sent to a hot zone? - One in a million, right?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Hedgehog?!** _

May 11

**Sherlock**

_It was a dark and clear night but the London light pollution drowned out all but the most stubborn of stars. Sherlock strode rapidly down the street, his pace at odds with his ruminating thoughts._

_The atmosphere at home had become even more volatile, ever since Mycroft had stood up to Daddy, calmly pointing out the validity of Sherlock's A-levels and shutting down every one of Daddy's ridiculous objections. Really, it was about time Mycroft grew some fuzz on his peaches but now the arguments and criticism were being directed at him as well. Mycroft deflected it with cool practicality but he was spending more time than ever in the garden shed, as a consequence._

_He turned a corner and strode on, noticing then dismissing the man out for a late-night jog (cheating on his wife, needs an alibi), the trio of girls giggling and fluttering down the sidewalk (hen night, one of them just got a job and is treating the others), the bloke across the street texting (student, down on his luck, depressed), the dog trotting confidently (slipped his leash, regular occurance, looking for trouble of the canine kind) and another jogger (night shift, his version of an early-morning run before work.) He stopped at an all-night convenience shop before heading home, then paused by the shed. Sure enough, he smelled chocolate and candle wax. He wiped a grim smirk off his face before yanking the door open. He stepped inside and thunked down beside his brother, then thrust the package of doughnuts at him._

_"Horrible enabling child," Mycroft muttered as he opened the bag and bit down into a powdered beignet._

_Sherlock smirked. "Greg thinks you're going to die of a heart attack or diabetes."_

_"He's probably right."_

_"Started early, did they?"_

_Mycroft grunted around another mouthful then admitted, "As soon as I came home."_

_Sherlock tutted smugly - at last, Mycroft was seeing how the other half lived. "At least you can leave."_

_"Not yet," Mycroft sighed, "Can't afford to yet."_

_"I didn't ask you to cover my tuition."_

_"No, nor did you ask me to pay for my Masters nor your first year of online university, whenever you should choose to take it," Mycroft retorted, then his voice softened, "I don't begrudge it, Sherlock. It's just going to take me longer to save enough to move out, that's all."_

_"You've got enough now," Sherlock pointed out bitterly, "More than enough for a studio flat."_

_"A studio flat won't do," Mycroft said, "I need a two-bedroom flat and I need to purchase, not rent."_

_Sherlock snorted, "What do you need with two bedrooms?"_

_Mycroft blinked at him. Even in the darkness, his astonishment was apparent. "Good heavens, Sherlock, did you think I was going to leave you behind? The second bedroom is for you."_

_Sherlock was silent for several moments, digesting this, before finally saying, "I'm not sure which is worse."_

_"Staying here," Mycroft said with assurance, "I don't make fun of your scarf."_

**John**

That exam could have gone worse. Could have gone considerably better but anyways... And his parents were still acting like he had already died. John sighed, unable to sleep and unable to concentrate on his homework any longer. Maybe a walk would clear his head. It was late but Sherlock had said he did it often and it was usually quiet. Maybe he'd be safe enough if he kept to his own street. 

He was also unable to stop thinking about Sherlock. It was plain the bloke wanted nothing more to do with him and John just didn't know what he had done wrong. ...other than be an annoying fool who didn't know when to quit. Too many sandwiches, not enough dictionaries? He sighed again.

And he couldn't stop texting him, even though the messages kept bouncing. He pulled out his mobile to send yet another text and didn't notice the tall man in the long coat striding quickly down the sidewalk across the street.

 

May 12

**Sherlock**

_The play of light over the surface of the bubbles was fascinating. The prismatic reflections dancing, creating thousands of tiny rainbows. It should have been enthralling but he was too distracted to really pay attention. His mind kept turning over and over and over._

_What did Mycroft mean, 'Is this about Victor?' How could it be about Victor when it was about John? John and his silliness, the way he made Sherlock laugh with his ridiculousness and the frankly strange way he kept showing little kindnesses towards someone he had never met and would never meet. And his.. his.. **persistence,** the way he had continued to text Sherlock even though Sherlock plainly **wasn't** going to answer (not that he could, what with the rehab's rules and then his phone being stolen and crushed, but that was beside the point!) How was that in any way to do with Victor? Victor would never have kept on texting long after Sherlock had ceased to reply._

_Victor wouldn't have knitted a scarf for him, either._

_Or bought him tea._

_Or bought a dictionary to humour him._

_Victor **would** have kept digging to find the... the.. apples and berries and hint of cinnamon and **WHAT THE HECK DID THAT EVEN MEAN??** Greg and his stupid metaphors, where in the world was he going with that? Idiocy. Victor would have kept digging but to find something to hurt, not to... to... whatever it was John was after, hopefully not whatever Greg was thinking. _

_It was all moot anyways. His mobile had been destroyed. He would never hear from John again. It was better that way._

_He didn't look up as Mycroft approached and poured himself a cup of tea. "Mmm!" he exclaimed, "This is good. What is it?"_

_"It's a blend of Yunnan and Harmutty Assam with a bit of autumn Darjeeling from the Margaret's Hope garden," Sherlock replied._

_Mycroft blinked at him for a moment. "It's delicious," he said, "When did you become such a theaphile?"_

_"It's John's fault."_

_"One of his better fiascos, I would say," Mycroft chuckled._

**John**

Mike was gone. Sherlock was gone. Harry was out more often than not, seeking an escape. John couldn't afford to go 'round the pubs very often now, so he wasn't seeing his old mates much anymore. Which didn't speak much for them as mates, really. 

John sighed. He couldn't afford to do much so he'd gone for a wander at the zoo. His shift would be starting in a few hours. He wasn't looking forward to it but management still didn't feel that 'not liking John's friends' was a sacking offense. 

He sat in front of the otter pool, watching the lively animals diving and swirling about. Hadn't Sherlock said something about ...how many species of otters? He took out his mobile and scrolled back through the messages - yes, he had. Thirteen species of otters, he had said. 

One of the otters swam up and stared at John with such a reproachful expression that he couldn't help laughing. Really, it looked exactly like how he pictured Sherlock might look whenever he went on one of his snarky tirades about sentiment. He snapped a picture of the scowling otter, who blew out a huff and dove back into the water, clearly disgusted with this silly idiot with a phone and a sandwich. John laughed again and cropped the picture to use as Sherlock's icon. 

He wondered whether he would ever get to see it in use. He missed Sherlock's ascerbic manner and the way he made John laugh with his snarkily accurate observations. He made John see the world from a different perspective and John missed that. 

But soon, it wouldn't matter. John would enlist and then he'd be off for training. Mike was gone, Sherlock was gone, and soon, John would be gone.

 

May 13

**Sherlock**

_A convenience store robbery in the early hours of a Sunday morning was unusual enough. For it to be so close to one of his regular haunts was even more interesting. Sherlock hovered near the edge of the crime scene, as close as he dared, taking in as much of the scene as he could._

_"Is that... Are you...?" He turned at the sound of a woman's voice. "Little Sherlock Holmes? Oh my goodness, it **is** you!"_

_He looked puzzled for a moment then his memory threw up a card and his expression cleared, "Detective Sergeant Entwistle."_

_"Detective Inspector now," she corrected, pleased, "I'm surprised you remember me!"_

_"How could I forget?" he took the offered hand and shook it lightly._

_"Look how you've grown!" she grinned up at him, "What are you doing here?"_

_He jerked his chin towards the crime scene, "Could I get a closer look? I think I recognise some of the knife work." Without waiting for an answer, he ducked under the caution tape, ignoring the yelps of the attending officers._

_"It's alright," DI Entwistle called, "I knew his great-aunt."_

_"Yeah, but letting a **kid** onto a crime scene?"_

_"Jacobs, that kid saw more crime scenes by the time he was nine than you saw cartoons and that was **before** he became a crime scene himself when his aunt was murdered."_

_Sherlock ignored the conversation behind him. He straightened up from examining the dead clerk and tapped out a quick text on his mobile. It rang a few seconds after, "Connor, ask around, find out if The Merk is back in town. Yes I know he's **supposed** to be in jail, that's not what I asked. Find out if he's out, I need to know." _

_He quit the call and turned as the Detective Inspector approached him. "Got something?" she asked._

_"Geoffry 'The Merk' Mercury," Sherlock replied, "Slice pattern, width of the blade, the way he played with the victim a bit before opening the carotid - that's his knife work, I'm sure of it. Last I'd heard, he was in custody on seven hundred thousand pound bail but if he found a way to post it or if he's escaped, he'd want to the world to know it in a big way. Knocking over a convenience store in practically daylight and killing the clerk in his signature fashion would do the trick."_

_"Serial killer?"_

_"Ha! - he wishes. No, gang cell leader, not above doing his own dirty work when it takes his fancy and it often does."_

_"Why a convenience store, then?"_

_"Like I said, to send a message. Look where we are: This is Angel Boys territory. This store is one of their fronts."_

_Detective Entwistle pinched the bridge of her nose, "So we might have a gang war brewing."_

_"Started, I'd say. I'm waiting for a call-back with confirmation that the Merk is back on the street." The detective nodded and he watched her go back to her people with a request for information. When his mobile rang, he didn't even hesitate, "Yes?"_

_And the voice that replied made his heart stop._ "Hi, it's John, the guy your brother used to text?"

_....hedgehog?_

"I don't know if you remember. I know it was so long ago that you gave me this number, three months or something like that. But I just wanted to ring and ask if you could pass something on to Sherlock for me?"

_**Hedgehog?!** _

"Hello? This is Mycroft Holmes, right?"

_** HEDGEHOG!! ** _

"Hello?"

_Sherlock finally found his voice, "You can tell him yourself."_

_He immediately regretted speaking. John launched into a predictably harsh litany that made Sherlock wish he had just hung up instead, until John finally told him why he had called._

_Military. Of course. It was the best recruitment snare ever, taking advantage of disadvantaged youth who couldn't afford a career education. John desperately wanted to be a doctor and enlisting was the only way he could make it happen. He nodded, "Yes."_

_...Which was apparently the wrong thing to say, to judge by the litany it touched off. Sherlock rolled his eyes and dug into his arsenal. If he was nasty enough, John would hate him, would regret calling, and would be able to leave him behind without a second thought. Until John said "You were the voice in the middle of the night" and made Sherlock pause. He had thought it was different for John, that John had just wanted entertainment... Maybe it **was** the same? And once again, the thought of John being in that much pain just **hurt**... _

_Then John said something else and Sherlock's legs nearly buckled out from under him. He had to sit down, he was so shocked, so stunned. He stared at his phone, astonished. "The hardest part of it all is probably the way you're such a bloody good actor," John had said and in doing so, had rocked Sherlock to the core._

_**How did he know?!** People who'd known him for years couldn't tell! John hadn't even met him, all they'd done was talked and texted, so how could John possibly have seen through him like that?! He stared at his mobile. He was used to seeing through people as easily as one sees through glass; he wasn't used to someone (who wasn't Mycroft) seeing through **him.**_

_And then it happened:_

"If you do, I will personally arrange your funeral and then show up to it in a Mexican sombrero and moustache and tell everyone there that we were surreptitious lovers." _\-- and his mind flashed up the image of a moustached hedgehog in a sombrero, poncho skewered by prickles, standing before a black marble gravestone with 'Sherlock Holmes' engraved on it in brass-filled letters. He tried desperately to suppress it but the grin escaped and spread itself wantonly across his face and he felt a few rebellious giggles well up._

_"And I would rise from my grave to witness the stupid looks on their faces," he said, trying not to laugh._

"And then maybe play a jaunty tune on my Spanish guitar as we ride off into the sunset?"

_Sherlock clapped his hand over his mouth at the image of a cartoon-Mexican hedgehog riding off with a zombie lover. **Why?** Just... just **why?** "Stop it, I can't laugh, I'm at a crime scene!"_

"So, do we have a deal?"

_"I can't believe you exist!"_

_I can't believe how much I missed you._

_He rolled his eyes then threw up his hands and gave in. "Deal."_

_He rang off after DI Entwistle approached him. "Well," she said, smiling, "Looks like you were right. And **that** gives us a lot to go on."_

**Mycroft**

_Well, that paid off. Mycroft would never admit that he hadn't remembered giving John his phone number, until Sherlock reminded him of it, nor had he thought that John would try to phone it after all this time -- but he was never above taking credit for other people's assumptions, particularly when they worked out as well as this. Greg called it 'the Scotty Principle', for reasons Mycroft declined to understand._

_Really, even if he hadn't known from the fact that Sherlock was ranting at him, he would have known simply by the undertones in his voice. Sherlock had no idea that he **sounded** happier after he'd been talking to John. It was obvious. _

_He thought of that terrible night. He'd trodden in the wet patch on the carpet that he'd thought was just water, and his heart had gone crazy. He'd seen the bruise on Sherlock's arm and the broken syringe but it wasn't until his conversation with Greg that he realised that Sherlock hadn't been shooting up. Greg was right, their family was killing Sherlock._

_Until someone had changed his little brother's mind._

_No, he didn't mind Sherlock being addicted to John. In fact, he was rather grateful._

**John**

John rang off, feeling elated. **Finally!** Though Sherlock had still sounded miserable... up until he started laughing, anyways. His phone had been crushed outside of St. Barts? - Sherlock hadn't been responding because he **couldn't.** He felt a huge wave of relief at that; that explained a lot. Not everything, but a lot. 

And.. and.... and... Sherlock hadn't sounded surprised by John's announcement. Just... _"Yes."_ What did that even mean?? .....no, he knew what that meant, now that he had time to think about it. _"I already know,"_ Sherlock had said - he hadn't asked why John would enlist because he already knew, he already knew that John's family couldn't afford to send him to medical school. He already knew there was no other way. 

_"Yes."_ \- he already knew why John had made the decision. _"Yes."_ \- he hadn't tried to talk John out of it, nor even to try to convince him further; he had just accepted John's decision. _"Yes."_ \- maybe he even... approved? Of the decision? Or that John had made it? In any case, now that he really thought about it, John felt... better. 

Once again, Sherlock had come through for him, when he really needed him to. 

"How's your friend the freak?"

One day I **will** chuck a latte over her head, John sighed and turned, "Just got off the phone with him, actually. He's doing better." He pulled on his jacket and walked past her with a fierce grin spread over his face, "And **still** a better friend than you are. Cheers, Sally, see you Wednesday."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> "I received a few tips yesterday. I expect the midden will be hitting the windmill before the week is out."_

May 14

**Sherlock**

_"And you're telling me about this why?"_

_Greg shrugged, "I thought you'd be interested, that's all. It's up your alley, sort of thing."_

_"How is your neighbor's dead cat up my alley?"_

_"The way it was slashed up like that? I dunno, it struck me as strange. It didn't seem entirely random. It definitely wasn't a dog."_

_"And I suppose you would know," Sherlock sniffed, "As if Rocky here could savage a rubber squeaky toy, let alone anything actually alive."_

_"I'll have you know rubber squeaky toys cower in fear of their lives when Rocky's around!"_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, I'm sure." His mobile chimed. He drew it out and looked at it, then rolled his eyes, "Oh no..."_

_"What?" Greg looked puzzled then his eyes widened, "Is it John?? It's John, isn't it! I know it is! I see that little smile!"_

_Sherlock shot him a Look, "What smile?"_

_"Oh no you don't! You get this tiny little smile whenever he texts, it's adorable. Look, there it is, I can see it trying to take over your face, you're fighting it._

_"Oh shut up." The mobile chirped again and he sent another reply. He heard a shutter click and looked up to see Greg showing him the back of his phone. "Oh, piss off, Greg!"_

_"I got it!! I got it!!" Greg crowed, "I've captured the elusive Sherlock Holmes 'I got a text from John' smile!! I am the best wildlife hunter EVAR!"_

_"'Evar', Greg? 'Evar?' Really?"_

_"Really! Oh, this is great!"_

_"What is so 'great' about it? Why does everybody give a damn?!" Sherlock snapped, exasperated._

_In response, Greg summoned the image he'd just taken. "This," he said, in a much more serious, gentler, tone, "Because he makes you look like this. Because he buys dictionaries and makes you laugh, he buys you tea and you have a new favourite drink, he knits you a scarf and it made your day and there's a metric fuck-tonne of shit going down in your life right now and this guy can **still** make you look like this. That's why."_

_Sherlock looked away, "...That's not 'me.' None of that is 'me.'"_

_Greg sighed then tried another tactic, "So who is it then?"_

_"What d'you mean?"_

_"If it's not you, then who's in there who's laughing and going to the Tea Palace shop and has that cute little smile?"_

_"..."_

_"Are you hiding any Alters in there?"_

_"Don't be ridiculous!"_

 

May 15

**Mycroft**

_The alarm dinged insistantly, drawing Mycroft back up out of the depths of his intense concentration. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders then got up to get another cup of tea, nodding to his superiors and co-workers as he passed them in the halls._

_"Good job, Mycroft."_

_Mycroft turned, his polite smile automatically spreading itself as he saw his immediate superior, "Thank you, sir."_

_"Do you have a moment? I have good news and bad news."_

_"Of course." Oh dear. He followed the director back to the man's office and took a seat in the indicated chair. The director sat down in his own ornate leather chair, folded his hands across the mahogany desk and rubbed them, clearly trying to think how to begin. "Sir?"_

_"Well, Mycroft, I did some checking into a few things and I learned that there's a plum position coming up in MI5." Mycroft's heart leapt. "They've already got their eye on you as a possibility and if you had that Master's you were thinking about, you'd be a shoe-in, but..."_

_"But?"_

_"Well, the position's not coming up for another year or two but that still isn't enough time for you to--*"_

_"That **won't** be an issue, sir," Mycroft asserted, "I've already commenced my courses."_

_"But still, a year? For a Master's degree?"_

_" **Not** an issue," Mycroft said again, "As long as the degree is considered to be valid and acceptable for the position, I will have it."_

_"Very well then, if you're that confident that you can do it, I'll put your name forward."_

_"Thank you, sir."_

_"Oh, um..." the director's voice stalled Mycroft as he got up to leave and he sat back down. "I, um, learned something else while I was enquiring..."_

_"Sir?"_

_"Um... something rather... personal." Mycroft waited patiently. "It's about your father."_

**Sherlock**

_"What's the matter?"_

_Patricia looked anything but alright, so he didn't ask. "I'm sorry," she said, not pausing as she measured out tea leaves onto the scale, "My puppy was murdered last night. I guess I'm not hiding it very well."_

_Sherlock's eyebrow twitched up, "Murdered? Why do you say it like that?"_

_"When we found him, he'd been.. mauled. Jeff thinks it was a bigger dog but I thought the marks looked too regular..."_

_"Did you take pictures?" he interrupted, "You must have reported the attack?"_

_"I.. yes, we... yes, but they're at home..."_

_"Send them to me."_

_She stared at him, "...Why?"_

_"Because this is the second time this week that somebody's mentioned a pet being slashed in a regular fashion and it seems a bit much of a coincidence. If I can examine the cut marks, I might be able to spot any patterns that might emerge. It would be better if I could study the actual body but pictures will help."_

_Patricia winced, "You think.. someone's doing this deliberately?"_

_Sherlock shrugged, "It could very well be. A lot of murderers get their start on animals."_

_"You're a bit young for police.. Are you an investigator or something?"_

_"Or something," Sherlock nodded, "Here's my email address."_

_"A-alright. I'll warn you, they're... not nice."_

_Sherlock tipped his head at her, "I didn't expect they would be."_

_"Right... Um, well... Here you are, then. 125 g Assam Harmutty, 125 g Yunnan, 60 g Earl Grey green, 60 g rose congou, 60 g Uva Ceylon broken orange pekoe, and I threw in some samples of China lapsang souchong and a Castleton Darjeeling SFTGFOP, first flush. Treat it like a green tea and sip it without sugar or milk."_

_Sherlock handed her his debit card then tipped his head again, "What does that mean?"_

_"Simply Far Too Good For Ordinary People," Patricia chuckled and Sherlock grinned. She went on more seriously, "Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe. It's a long and fancy way of saying that it's got a lot of whole, young leaves and buds, top notch stuff. You'll like it, I'm sure."_

_"Thank you. You said to treat it like a green? So, water at 80 degrees?"_

_"For three minutes maximum, yes," she nodded, "Enjoy your tea! And I'll send those pictures along tonight."_

 

May 16

**Greg**

"Y'allo!"

"It's me. Will you be able to take in Sherlock for a while?"

"How long of a while and why?"

"I received a few tips yesterday. I expect the midden will be hitting the windmill before the week is out."

"Uh oh. What's going on?"

"The initial investigation into Daddy's activities is winding up. It's expected charges will be laid. It's expected Daddy will be taken into custody."

Greg nearly blew out his cola, "Shit, are you telling me your old man's going to be **arrested?!?** "

"So it would appear," Mycroft sighed, "Happily, I have learned that it was not, in fact, my little brother's irrepressable deductions that triggered all of this. Apparently the auditors had suspected him for years and were very close to pinpointing him. In any case, it was Tiffany who reported on him."

"Tiffany...? Who's.. Is that..."

"One of the many administrative assistants Daddy has slept with, yes," Mycroft sounded tired, "It seems she did not take kindly to the relationship being rather unceremoniously ended, nor to learning that she was hardly the first nor the last."

"Oh god! Hell hath no fury and all that. So if Sherlock's off the hook, then why do you need him gone?"

"Our parents will not see it like that."

"Oh, you're finally getting it?"

"I've been 'getting it' ever since I told Daddy he was wrong about Sherlock's A-levels," Mycroft sighed, "It's seems I am now as much a disappointment as Sherlock."

"Oh come on!" Greg exploded, "That's crap and you know it!"

"I know," Mycroft sighed again.

Greg sighed as well, "Alright, let me make a few calls. I'll see what I can come up with."

**John**

He really shouldn't laugh, he knew that. Sherlock had said early on that he wasn't into chart music so it really wasn't his fault that he wasn't familiar with Beyonce. But it was so funny!

It was just what John needed, going in to work. 

"What're you laughing at?" 

John just grinned, "Something my friend said."

"The Freak?"

One day I'm going to glue a panini to her head by its brie. "My friend Sherlock, yes."

"The Freak makes you laugh?"

This time John smiled like the sun, "Oh yeah!"

**Sherlock**

_The photos weren't the clearest but they were enough, as were the images supplied by the Wilkinses when their missing pet Pekinese turned up mutilated. Sherlock had spent the morning collecting images of missing-pet posters and making enquiries at the animal shelters and veterinarians. He'd turned up two more mangled animals and had been allowed to inspect one of them._

_There was a rhythm to the slashes, he was sure of it. Though the cuts appeared random - some small, some long gashes - he was certain there was a pattern. He could **feel** it, leaping in the back of his head, trying to get his attention. He tented his fingers against his lips and stared at the cut patterns again. A one-inch cut, a gouge into the carotid artery, a three-inch cut, a two-inch cut, a four-inch slice, a seven-inch gash, a one-inch cut... then another set, travelling another direction, equally as random in length -- if not for the fact that it appeared to be repeated on every body he'd seen thus far. _

_He grabbed his coat and went out into London._

 

May 17

**Sherlock**

_His meeting with Connor had been productive. Connor's enquiries had turned up two more animals with the same pattern of wounds. The same regularly irregular slashes, the same gouge in the carotid artery. It had also turned up that Cassidy hadn't been seen since Saturday night. He slammed the door and shucked his coat then made straight for his room to inspect the pictures again._

_The gouge was bothering him: It was the only round wound on any of the bodies. Every other wound was a slice made with a knife but the gouges were round and appeared to have been made with a punch of some kind. One round wound amid all of the slashes, as if it was some kind of punctuation._

_Or a decimal point. He frowned and leaned closer. One inch, decimal, three inch, two inch, four inch, seven inch, one inch... One point three two four seven one. He opened his browser and input the numbers. And stared._

_"Detective Inspector Entwistle, how can I help you?"_

_"This is Sherlock Holmes. I believe I may have stumbled across the early work of a serial killer."_

**Mycroft**

_"The police have come and taken Sherlock."_

_" **What?!?** I was just texting him not a half hour ago!"_

_"I know. He's been up to something in his room all week. Mummy went up to look today then she came downstairs and reported him."_

_"Oh no... He's relapsed?"_

_"Well... no... It's... I should have looked in on him more often but I... He's been coming closer lately and I didn't want to risk spoiling that..."_

_"For God's sake, Mycroft, spit it out! What's he done?"_

_"One wall of his room is covered in... photographs..."_

_"..."_

_"..."_

_"...What kind of photographs." Greg listened with growing comprehension. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or aghast. "Um, that... may have been my fault."_

 

May 18

**Mycroft**

_"They brought Sherlock back late last night."_

_"Oh good. What happened?"_

_"He was helping them with their enquiries, apparently. He gave them the pictures. The animals were all cut in the pattern of the Plastic Number, so he had alerted the authorities and advised them to look for any human bodies with similar cut marks."_

_"Who cuts up people's pets in unrepeating decimal numbers?!"_

_"Mathematics-obsessed budding serial killers who may be practicing before they make the jump to human victims. The police agreed, once he pointed out the sequence to them."_

_"Mycroft, some of those pets were **from our neighborhoods!!** "_

_"I'm aware of that, yes."_

_"Oh my God!! So there's a math-obsessed murderer out there practically in our back yards?!"_

_"Apparently so."_

_"Doesn't that bother you?"_

_"At the moment, of more pressing concern is the fact that the police have returned."_

_"What?"_

**Sherlock**

_This was definitely becoming a problem. John was becoming far too invested in him for his own good, not to mention for Sherlock's comfort. It was becoming more and more evident that John wanted to meet. That would just make it even harder for John to embark on his military career. Why was he making this so difficult for himself? It just didn't stand to reason and for God's sake, what is going on **now**??_

_Sherlock sat up and looked out the window (careful of the splintered frame where Mycroft had yanked out the nails) and his eyebrows shot up - the police were back? Already? He went to the stairs and heard his mother wittering, "I knew it, I just knew it, he's been nothing but trouble, that boy."_

(Fri 9:01pm)  
 _This isn't your fault._

_Sherlock frowned at his brother's text then he felt his heart drop into his stomach at the officer's next words. Mummy began to wail._

(Fri 9:05pm)  
 _This isn't your fault. It wasn't your deductions that led to this._

(Fri 9:07pm)  
 _The auditors already knew. They just needed to gather enough proof._

(Fri 9:10pm)  
 _He's been embezzling for years. It's finally caught up to him. That's all._

(Fri 9:12pm)  
 _Daddy being arrested is a pretty big all._

(Fri 9:15pm)  
 _I cannot disagree._

_Sherlock watched from the shadows as handcuffs were placed upon his father's wrists. He glanced across the room at Mycroft, whose impassive face hid the turmoil that must have been gnawing at him. Sherlock was craving desperately; he could well imagine how dangerous Mycroft would become to any fairy cake that had the misfortune to cross his path right now. They watched in silence as their father was led from the house and into the waiting van, and they watched in silence as it drove away._

_"This is your fault!!" Sherlock startled visibly at his mother's screech. She flung herself at him and screamed up into his face, "If you had've kept your mouth shut like a **good** boy, none of this would have happened!"_

_"He's been stealing from the company for years, he brought it on himself!" Sherlock shouted back, "It wasn't me who brought your little illusion crashing down! If it weren't for me, you'd still think that rash was vaginitis!"_

_"oh my god **ENOUGH!** " Mycroft bellowed, "Sherlock is right, Mummy, Daddy has only himself to blame."_

_"If he had kept quiet about it..."_

(Fri 9:52pm)  
 _Take my card. Greg knows._

_Mycroft physically inserted himself between Sherlock and their distraught mother. "You know they wouldn't have taken a teenager seriously, Mummy. The report came from inside the company. The auditors had been onto him for years, it was only a matter of time."_

_Shielded by his brother's bulk, Sherlock seized his coat and mobile and scrambled out the back door. He was shaking and told himself it was the cold, belting his coat tighter._

(Fri 9:55pm)  
 _Mycroft says you know._

(Fri 9:57pm)  
Know what?

(Fri 9:57pm)  
Oh shit about your Da? Shit what happened?

(Fri 9:58pm)  
 _He's gone. Arrested._

(Fri 9:59pm)  
Oh Jesus Christ

(Fri 9:59pm)  
What's going on now? Are you okay?

(Fri 10:00pm)  
Mycroft just texted he said you left ten minutes ago. Where are you?

(Fri 10:02pm)  
 _Out._

(Fri 10:03pm)  
Accurate but I was hoping for more detail.

(Fri 10:05pm)  
Hang on

_Sherlock sighed. He saw that he'd received another message from John, timestamped at just before the arrest. His lip twisted; John was much too invested in him. Perhaps another stab at inveterate nastiness... Third time lucky? He pecked off another text message then spent the next forty-five minutes alternating texts between John, Greg and Mycroft._

(Fri 11:04pm)  
Where are you? Da's out looking for you.

(Fri 11:06pm)  
 _Walking._

(Fri 11:07pm)  
Where do you walk this late at night?

(Fri 11:08pm)  
Never mind you can kip on our couch, Mum's fine with it.

(Fri 11:09pm)  
Rocky misses you.

(Fri 11:15pm)  
 _I need space._

(Fri 11:17pm)  
Fine, fine, anyone would after the night you've had.

(Fri 11:18pm)  
Come along when you're ready then. I'll wait up for you.

(Fri 11:20pm)  
 _Don't._

(Fri 11:23pm)  
Too late.

_Sherlock shook his head and walked onward. He swept past a convenience store without so much as a glance, so he didn't notice the fellow at the sandwich display, standing with his back to the door._


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John, nice to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances. Look, can I make it up to.. oh christ, Rocky!! Knock it off! People's legs are for them to walk with, not for you to chew on or get off with! Christ, it's bad enough you do that to Sherlock, let alone doing it to strangers..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Pawtal may be taking a hiatus due to upcoming GCSEs, this may be the last chapter of my own for a little while. Good luck, Pawtal!

May 19

**Sherlock**

_"MORRRR-NINNNNNG!"_

_Sherlock cracked an eye open and gave Greg the look of death. The effect was spoiled by the immediate application of dog slobber._

_"Aw geez, Rocky, don't do that.. C'mon, boy, down. DOWN. Good dog. Sorry about that."_

_"I'll admit it's an effective alarm clock, perhaps you should patent it," Sherlock said sourly, sitting up and wiping the biological goo off his face._

_Greg immediately doubled over laughing, "Dog slobber alarm clock! You're right, I'd make a fortune."_

_"Don't let my father manage it."_

_"Apparently not," Greg nodded, "C'mon, I made scrambled eggs."_

_"Not hungry."_

_"Aw c'mon, they're good. Eat up then we'll go walk Rocky. I can't put him off for much longer or he'll go on the floor."_

_"What if I don't want to?"_

_"Then I'll let him dog-slobber on you some more."_

_"Is there a reason why you're insisting I join you in this?" Sherlock rolled his eyes but pushed himself up off of the couch. No sooner had he uncurled than Rocky had his scarf out of his lap and across the room. "Hey, that's mine, you wretched creature!"_

_" **Rocky!** Drop it! NOW! Rooooock-yyyyyyy...! Good boy," Greg shook his head and retrieved the bundle of yarn, "Hey, is this the scarf that John knit for you?"_

_"Yes," Sherlock sighed, taking it back._

_"I'm really sorry if Rocky's ruined it."_

_"He hasn't, but even if he had, it'd be hard to tell," he chuckled, "It only escapes being a simple snarl of yarn by being vaguely rectangular."_

_"True," Greg chuckled, "I'm just a little surprised that you kept it."_

_Sherlock shrugged guardedly, "It doesn't itch."_

_Greg didn't push it any further, knowing that if he did so, Sherlock would just leave. He turned and patted his leg to get Rocky's attention, "Rocky! C'mere, boy! Want to go for a walk? Walk?? Yeah! C'mere, let's put your leash on... that's a good boy.. Okay, let's go!!" Sherlock shook his head but grabbed his coat and tagged along. "So what happened with the police?"_

_"My father was arrested; what else is there to tell?"_

_"I meant with the animals. Mycroft said there was a pattern to the cuts, an unrepeating decimal number? The Golden Ratio, was it? One point something or other?"_

_"No, the Golden Ratio is one point six one eight zero three. The number the killer is using is the Plastic Number, one point three two four seven one."_

_Greg shook his head, "I think I've heard of the Plastic Number all of once and some creep is using it to kill animals. So, the police?"_

_"They needed to know what to look for so they could review their cases for similarities. They also needed to know where to look, since the animal bodies have turned up in three defined areas." Greg shivered - one of those areas was much too close to home, literally. "And they needed to be notified that Cassidy hasn't been seen since last Saturday night."_

_"Cassidy?"_

_"Cassidy Williams, street name 'Vapour.' One of the working girls who shows up at the shelter from time to time. She has a tendency to disappear, though, so I'm hoping this is just one of those times. On the other hand, that makes her a prime target."_

_"Oh god..."_

_"You wanted to get into police investigative work," Sherlock smirked, "This is a very common story."_

_"I know, it's just...." Greg sighed, "They still have to **find** the bloke."_

_Sherlock shrugged, "Now they know there's a bloke for whom to look. Who knows how long it would have taken them to realise it otherwise? They would never have put the animal complaints together, of that I'm certain. It would have taken several human victims before they cottoned on." Sherlock's mobile chimed and he took it out to frown at it._

_"John again?" Greg asked hopefully._

_"No... DI Entwistle. She says they've found a victim. She wants me to come take a look."_

~

**John**

Getting called in to work early on top of a late night was not on John Watson's list of favourite things to do. A seven-hour shift on a busy Saturday was not helping John's grades any, but at least it kept him away from the house. His parents had now convinced themselves that Harry's being gay was "just a phase" and Mum had taken to leaving tracts everywhere. Da was still unemployed, hadn't gotten any interviews, and he was drinking heavily enough, it was clear that Harry'd come by it honestly. He decided to take a walk through the park to wind down. 

He texted Sherlock, because texting Sherlock definitely helped. He was starting to understand now, why Sherlock escaped his home as often as he did. Harry was starting to do the same thing and it worried John (though John had sworn he would never, **ever** offer to pay anyone to spy on his sister, no matter how worried he might be.) Sally had been needling him all day about his friendship with "the Freak" and he had been this close to dunking her face into a bowl of capuccino. 

Oh come on, surely there was some famous composer born on May 19, wasn't there? Wikipedia was failing him, making him look silly in front of Sherlock. Metaphorically in front of, anyways. Sure, days could have birthdays, why not? Someone had to recognise the first day someone announced "Today will be May 19"? The thought made John grin. Good old Sherlock... John was capable of some very good silliness all on his own but Sherlock somehow managed to elevate him to new levels. Celebrating every day meant living life to the fullest? Well, come to that, perhaps that wasn't such a bad mantra... 

"ow fuck **ROCKY!!** Rocky, get back here!"

John looked up to see a large russet blur approaching at speed. It had teeth. 

**Greg**

"SHIT!!!!!! Oh Jesus fuck! **ROCKY!!!** Get off of him! BAD DOG! DOWN! **NOW!** Oh Jesus, are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Fucking hell, mate, what's the big idea?!"

"Jesus Christ, I'm sorry, he's never done that before! Christ, I'm sorry! Are you hurt bad? Is it bleeding? Jesus fuck, I'm really sorry."

"Doesn't seem to be bleeding... Just hurts like fuck."

"Christ, I'm so sorry. If it's any comfort, he wrenched my shoulder with that stunt and I'm pretty sure he sprained my wrist. Christ, I've never seen him do that before."

"Had him long, have you?"

"Since he was a puppy, yeah. And yes, we took him to dog school. Fuck, man, I don't know what to say."

"How old is he? Maybe he's going senile."

"He's not **that** old," the dog owner looked so distraught that John felt like believing him when he said the dog had never bitten anyone before. "Look, my name's Greg.."

"John."

"John, nice to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances. Look, can I make it up to.. oh christ, Rocky!! Knock it off! People's legs are for them to walk with, not for you to chew on or get off with! Christ, it's bad enough you do that to Sherlock, let alone doing it to strangers..."

The bloke blinked a few times. "Sherlock?!" he said guardedly, "D'you mean Sherlock Holmes?"

Greg looked equally guarded, "Yeah. How d'you know him?" Then his eyes flew open in surprise, "No way! - Are you.. Texting John??"

"Oh Christ, are you Shit Advice Greg??"

"That's me!!"

"Oh my god!"

"And may I just say, I am SO GLAD you didn't follow my shit advice!"

"Me too, I mean I was just texting him just now." John's mobile dinged. He looked at it and grinned, "That's him now, actually."

He turned the mobile and Greg doubled over laughing, "Oh my god, that otter looks just like him!"

"Does it really?"

"He scowls **exactly** like that when he's in a strop! Oh my god that's hilarious! Hey, you know what he's got for your icon? - it's a hedgehog between two slices of bread. What's up with that?"

"OHHHHHHHH no," John laughed, briefly hiding his face, "My ex wanted me to dress up as a hedgehog for a party and I said no."

"That's brilliant!" Greg laughed, "Look, I'm really sorry about Rocky. Can I make it up to you somehow? Buy you a tea or coffee or whatever you drink?"

"Alright but only if it's Starbucks."

"Deal!"

**John**

"This is great! You're John! I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you from your Facebook. Geez, I wonder if that's why Rocky went for you? He had Sherlock's scarf off of him this morning, I wonder if he recognised your smell? How long does smell last on a scarf?"

"I have no idea," John laughed, "Does he still have the scarf? I wondered if he'd got rid of it."

"Oh God no, he's still got it. He loves that thing, says it doesn't itch."

John brightened, "Really?"

"Yes, really! I mean it, thanks SO much for ignoring me and not giving up on Sherlock..."

"Yeah, about that, what's up with him? I mean, he told me he was in rehab and that..."

"He told you that?" Greg sat up, surprised.

"Well yeah, and that his phone had been destroyed but..."

Greg shook his head in wonder, "I mean it, man, you have no idea how big of a deal that is, that he told you."

"He's a very private person, I gathered that much."

"That's putting it mildly," Greg snorted, "Just trying to get him to answer 'how was your day' is like pulling teeth."

"He answers, he just says 'Dull.'"

Greg burst out laughing and nodding, "Yes, spot on. By the way, he's really like that. You're getting pure unadulterated Sherlock Holmes, he's like that to everybody."

"I like his insults, they're creative."

"Most people don't. He's not what you'd call friendly."

"Spotted that, thanks."

"And he doesn't have a lot of friends. Any, really."

John twitched an eyebrow, "You?"

"Sort of, I guess. Like I said before, we have a really complicated relationship but I've known him and his family for years. Candidly, they're the most fucked-up people I've ever met."

"Why's that?"

"I've never met anybody more critical in my life!" Greg's exasperation almost exploded out of him, "They do nothing but pick on him, nothing he does is ever good enough for them! Do you know what they did?? - After he got kicked out of college, Sherlock found an online college and when his father found out, he broke Sherlock's laptop and damaged the hard drive, he nearly destroyed all of Sherlock's hard work! Thank God Mycroft was able to rescue it!"

John stared in shock, "But.. why? Why would his Da do that?"

"Didn't think an online college was valid, didn't think it was good enough. I'm not kidding, John, **nothing** Sherlock does is ever good enough for them. They take a family trip, they get lost, they take it out on him as if it's his fault his Da can't use a map!" Greg shook his head, "I think that's half why he acts like such a shit. I mean, when I first met him, he was the politest kid ever, too polite, got picked on for being too posh, but his parents were always on his case about not using the right fork or not using the right title at the right time or not being tactful enough even though he was really trying. I mean it, I've seen them insist that he was being rude and thoughtless even though I could tell he was really trying not to be. Frankly, I think he just gave up trying."

John thought about some of the things he'd discussed with Norm. "That makes sense. I mean, he didn't have any reason to be polite to me, especially after my mates stole my mobile and texted him at half-one in the morning to make fun of his name. God, I totally deserved that strop."

Greg nodded, "But he doesn't get any better, is what I'm saying."

"Why d'you stay friends with him, then?"

Greg blew out a sigh and sipped his coffee, thinking. "Well... I guess its because I do know about his family so I have some more sympathy for him... and also, if there's a problem, he'll try to solve it for you. It's one thing I've noticed about him. You can talk about stuff and it seems like he doesn't care or isn't listening, but then he makes the problem go away. It's like, he doesn't talk about it, he just does it. You won't get any 'oh how awful' sympathy or anything like that but he once broke into a chemist's to get my mother's migraine medicine when she ran out over a holiday weekend."

"Oh my God!"

"I didn't tell her that part."

"I guess not!" John laughed then nodded, "You're right, though. He found my sister when she went missing and he's stayed up to talk to me a couple of times when I was in a downer."

Greg nodded, "Yes, exactly. He won't remember your birthday much less show up to your party, but if you bring a problem to him, he literally won't rest until he's come up with a solution."

"He cheers me up a lot," John said, "I had a crap day today but a few minutes of texting about day birthdays and Sherlock's ideal date and I couldn't stop grinning."

"What's his ideal date?"

"Walking alone in the park and texting him. ...Wait, I think I just said that we're dating. Or that he's dating himself."

Greg laughed, "See, usually he doesn't have any tolerance at all for silly things but for some reason, he likes yours. He gets utterly baffled by it. He told me about the hardcore fish, by the way."

"Did he tell you about the horses?"

"No?"

"I had a date with a horse girl and I said I never wanted to see another horse again and he spammed me with horse pictures."

"Oh my God!"

"I couldn't stop laughing!"

"That's brilliant! Seriously, John, you're probably the only person who can coax humour out of him because, let's be honest, he sent those pics because he knew it would make you laugh."

"........... I.... I don't know what to say to that," 

"Well, I know for a fact you're the only person who can make him smile. Oh my god I got the absolute **sweetest** picture of him smiling right after he got one of your texts, hang on I'll pull it up for you, you have to see this..." 

John's hand shot out to stop him, "No! I... no."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I know this sounds weird, and.. I really **do** want to see but..." John's face twisted with anxiety and pleading to be understood, "But he's made it really clear he doesn't want to meet and he is very private and it doesn't seem to me that a lot of people respect that about him.."

"You're right, there."

"So.. oh God, I **do** want to see that picture.. but I shouldn't, you know?"

Greg sat back, impressed. "When you put it like that, I feel like a git for even offering. Damn. - but you're right. But for the record, I think he's a complete idiot for not wanting to meet but in a way I think I'm starting to understand."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well.. I mean I've known him for years and I've only **just** figured this out... I think... I mean, his family say they love him but they pick on him and treat him like shit, and I found out his 'friends' treated him like shit, I mean I knew he got beat up a lot in primary and middle school but apparently it went worse than that..."

John nodded, "I think I know what you mean. I work with someone who went to school with him. The names she calls him and the way she talks about him makes me want to dump coffee on her."

Greg nodded, "Yeah. He used to be pretty trusting and I think people took advantage of that so now he pretty much shuns everybody." He sighed, "Like I said, I've known him for years and I've only just started to work it out. I think, really deep down, I think maybe he's come to think that anyone who says they care about him is going to heap shit and abuse on him."

John looked helpless. "So then.... What can I do?"

"You're asking me? - I'm the Giver of Shit Advice, remember?" They both broke up laughing then Greg sobered again, "I dunno, man. Just keep doing what you're doing, I guess. Because I know for a fact that it's working."

**Sherlock**

_"That's definitely the same wound," Sherlock confirmed, "Only luck that it missed the carotid."_

_"Toxicology's come back. She was dosed with GBH," DI Entwistle told him, "And those are definitely hesitation marks."_

_"So this is likely his first attempt."_

_The detective inspector nodded, "She'll be conscious in a couple of hours, we can question her then, with a keyboard. The surgeons managed to repair some of the damage to her voice box but they're not sure if she'll be able to talk again."_

_Sherlock nodded then looked at the Inspector, "Will you let me know when you're done questioning her? I've a few of my own I'd like to ask."_

_Entwistle shook her head, "Not allowed, but if you tell me what they are, I'll ask them myself."_

_"Good enough, I suppose," Sherlock nodded. His mobile chimed a text alert and he rolled his eyes but looked at it._

(Sat 7:57pm)  
Hey Sherlock, you'll never guess who I met today.

_His heart plunged into his stomach. There was only one person Greg could meet who would bring out **that** kind of a reaction._

_**John.** _


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start looking up for Sherlock... just in time to get worse. 
> 
> Whoops.

May 20

**John**

~~Incoming Call~~

"Hi Greg!"

"I can't believe this guy!!"

"Who, Sherlock?"

"Yeah. I went over to his and he's having a strop."

"Why?"

"Near as I can tell, about us going for coffee. I thought he'd want to hear about you, I was all set to tell him everything and he didn't want to hear any of it. He says I've ruined you and turned you into something dull."

"O...kay...?"

"He says ...no, hang on, I've got to remember this correctly.. He says, 'Now he’s a friend of a friend, he’s mutual, one of those people who wasn’t invited to the party but they showed up anyway and kind of hovered in the background while holding their pity coffee.'"

"Pity coffee!!! oh my god..."

"'Stop laughing! This is not a happy time!'"

"Oh my god you do that so well that's hysterical..."

"Honestly, John, I have no idea what's gotten into him. I told him he sounded jealous and he said that wasn't it but then he said protective was partly right."

"Protective? He's protecting me? From what, pity coffee?"

"I haven't got a clue, I was hoping you would know."

"No idea here, mate. Pity coffee... Christ, and the worst part is, that's the story of my life, too."

"What?"

"So he's really upset, then?"

"Yes and I have no idea what he's on about. Nothing he said was making sense."

"What did he say?"

"He said.. I hope I've got this right.. 'Hearing about him won’t help. Hearing the things he’s said out loud rather than over text. What good does it do? Knowing about what he was wearing or how tall he is or what he said about me… it wouldn’t make things easier.' I mean, how does that make any sense at all?"

".....Actually, yeah, it kind of does."

"What?"

"Well, I mean, you've told me he's just the same in person as he is in my texts, right? So he wouldn't treat me any differently, right?"

"Probably not, no."

"I guess, to him, texting me **is** pretty much the same as talking to me. Or meeting me. Maybe that's why he doesn't feel the need?"

"Maybe. Just don't use the word 'feel' around him, God that sent him right off..."

"How so?"

"Something else he said that didn't make any sense. He said I treat him the same as everybody else and he said something like 'Sherlock is all worked up over something ridiculous and fake again and it’s bugging him but no, don’t worry, he just needs to punch something and then he’ll be fine again, that will change everything. He just needs to get his feelings out.'"

"Oh..."

"Making sense to you?"

"Um, kind of... Not really but kind of... I mean, I think I can see a shape to it... You said he solves problems. I mean, you said he won't remember your birthday but he'll knock himself out to solve a problem..."

"Yes? Does it mean anything for you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to have to think about this."

"John? If you can make sense out of him, you are a god. The God of Hedgehogs."

"Oh God! That's appalling. Anyhow, I have to go, I've got a match coming up this afternoon."

"Rugby?"

"Yeah, you want to come watch? I could use a cheering section, my parents aren't interested."

"Yeah, sure! I'd love to."

"Great!"

"...You ever thought of asking Sherlock to go?"

"Sure, lots of times. But even if he did want to meet, I'm pretty sure he'd find it boring."

"True enough. Alright, I'll catch up with you later then."

~~ Disconnected ~~

 

May 21

**Mycroft**

_"It's a matter for the **police** , Sherlock!"_

_"The police are incompetent idiots," Sherlock snapped back, "They didn't pay any attention at all to the murdered-pet reports. It would have taken three or four murders before they even realised they **had** a serial killer."_

_"You shouldn't have become involved."_

_"When I could plainly see the pattern emerging? When I know what it means? What was I supposed to do, then, ignore it? Of course, because that's what **good** people do, isn't it, Mummy."_

_"Yes, fine, reporting your suspicions is one thing but you go entirely too far, Sherlock Holmes! Your wall is covered with those horrible pictures of that poor girl!"_

_Peggy Burke, missing for two months and bearing a close resemblance to Cassidy Williams, had been found covered with wounds clearly matching the pet-killer's pattern. It was also clear that she was the killer's first attempt at a human victim._

_In the past, Mycroft would have agreed with Mummy, but Greg's words had affected him... no, it was realising that he'd nearly lost his little brother that had driven Greg's words so deeply. Now he listened with a more objective ear and he heard two things loud and clear. "That poor girl is alive because of Sherlock," he pointed out coolly, "He **saved her life** , Mummy, I would have thought that would count in his favour."_

_That stalled her for a second. "Well, yes, of course, we're all proud of Sherlock.." Sherlock's bark of shocked, derisive laughter cut Mycroft to the heart and he remembered Greg asking 'When was the last time anybody actually **praised** Sherlock?' For the life of him, he - Mycroft Holmes, the man with the flawlessly eidetic memory - couldn't remember. "But he doesn't need to stay on with it! And those pictures!"_

_"So don't look at them," Sherlock said bluntly, "And I **will** stay involved. Detective Inspector Entwistle's promised to get me copies of the police sketches."_

_"I wouldn't be at all surprised if they look like you."_

_Sherlock stared at her, his face utterly blank, then spun on his heel and stormed up to his room._

_Mycroft sighed. They'd all thought it. Right from when Sherlock was small, when Mycroft had found the gory crime sites in his browser history, they'd all suspected and feared... and many serial killers wanted to hang around to see the effects of their activities. But serial killers didn't usually allow their victim to be found alive, undamaged enough to give detailed descriptions._

_Sherlock had saved a girl's life. He'd cut through a swath of criminal activities at the rehab centre and at the youth homeless shelter. More and more, close examination of his activities revealed that Greg was correct: Sherlock wasn't fascinated by crimes because he wanted to commit them, but because he wanted to solve them._

_Their parents wanted him to become a scientist of some kind, a chemist or a medical researcher. They wanted him to solve some great disease or ecological puzzle. That was all very well and good (and Sherlock was down with the chemistry part) but it wasn't where Sherlock's passion lay. Nor, it appeared, his talents._

_He followed his brother up the stairs._

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock's phone chimed a text and he rolled his eyes as the hedgehog sandwich icon flashed up - John. Then he felt the smile tilting the corners of his lips, the traitorous things, and he rolled his eyes again, annoyed by his body's betrayal._

(Mon 3:43pm)  
It’s a beautiful day to go and get pity coffee.

_He nearly tossed the phone into the laundry basket - **of course** Greg told him about that, why was he even surprised? As if he didn't have enough to worry about..._

_He looked up as Mycroft entered his room - without knocking, as usual. He stood next to his little brother, looking at the images of the frightened, wounded girl. "The pictures are quite graphic," he said mildly, "Why did you want them?"_

_Sherlock raked his hands through his hair and sighed, "Peggy Burke does look a lot like Cassidy Williams; it might indicate a victimology."_

_"The Williams girl is still missing?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Congratulations on finding this one. Well done."_

_Sherlock shook his head, "It's not important."_

_Mycroft glanced at him, "I'm quite certain it is to her."_

_Sherlock pursed his lips and blew out a snort, "That doesn't matter. She's the first. She got away. What's **important** is that there is a killer who now knows how to subdue his human victims, knows how to make the cuts, and now knows that the police are already on to him."_

_"Perhaps that will dissuade him from proceeding further."_

_Sherlock shook his head, "If anything it will escalate him. He'll process his next victim speedily. And there **will** be a next victim. The Burke girl is the first but she very likely won't be the last."_

_Mycroft nodded and turned, "It's good you have your priorities straight."_

_Sherlock watched his brother leave, through the corner of his eye. Ever since the night Daddy destroyed his laptop, Mycroft had done a 180 about his little brother and Sherlock didn't know how far to trust it. Mycroft used to throw in right behind his parents but now it seemed that their illogic had become too much even for Mycroft. He didn't know how far to trust it and didn't know how long it would last._

_He shook his head and typed a response to John about being in a coma, something that would be preferable to being in this house. John responded with the most ridiculous piece of signage Sherlock had ever seen and he felt the grin getting away from him again. Stupid grins should be on a lead, not just dogs._

_What happened next was just **ridiculous.** _

_And Greg! Greg and his stupid, frustrating, idiot... just... just ... **ridiculous!**_

_Thank God DI Entwistle texted just then to say she'd got the sketches, just as Greg texted the most utterly, outrageously **ridiculous** thing he'd ever texted! _

_He flew down the stairs, seized his coat and flung it on as he stormed out the door._

 

May 22

**Mycroft**

~~ Outgoing Call ~~

_"Hello, Greg. I'm afraid my brother may be in a worse mood than usual."_

_"Already noticed that, thanks. What's going on?"_

_"Mummy pretty much accused him of being the serial killer."_

_" **WHAT?!** Oh my fucking God...!"_

_"She has of course been quite upset since Daddy's arrest, what with the media attention and all..."_

_"Oh God..."_

_"And she's quite noticeably taking it out on Sherlock. She didn't even care that his investigation led to that young woman being found alive. She was far more concerned with the attention it would bring to the family than that he had saved a young woman's life."_

_"Oh my God..."_

_"He left around six o'clock last night and didn't return until after two. He left again early this morning."_

_"Six? Oh crap..."_

_The front door slammed, startling Mycroft. "I have to go. He's just come home."_

_"Text me!"_

~~ Disconnected ~~

_"What happened?" Mycroft called. Sherlock suddenly stopped moving, went silent, sullen and stubborn. Mycroft pursed his lips. Abruptly Sherlock stomped into the kitchen, slapped a piece of paper onto the table next to Mycroft's laptop, then whirled out again and stomped up the stairs._

_Mycroft looked at the paper and his eyebrows jumped. He picked it up and followed his little brother. Sherlock was curled up on his bed. "Where did you get this?"_

_"They tried to give me the reward," Sherlock grated out._

_"The police?"_

_"The girl's parents." Abruptly he was on his feet and stalking in ellipses, "I didn't do it for **money!** It was the case! And it's not even solved yet! The Burkes had a reward out for their daughter and Entwistle thought I should have it. As if I **care** about mon--*oof!"_

_Mycroft casually withdrew his foot, now that he had his little brother's attention. "You're not thinking this through," he said, tapping the cheque, " **This** is your ticket to independence, little brother. Your way out of here." Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he thought about that. "This is enough to start you off. If you invest it in funds that will yield a dividend, it will give you a small income, not much more than a retail job at first, but if you add to it, you will grow your investment." He had Sherlock's attention now; he was thinking. _

_"I'm not doing it for rewards," Sherlock said again._

_"As your sole motivation, I agree," Mycroft said easily, "But there's nothing wrong with accepting money when it's offered, especially now when you need to establish yourself."_

_Sherlock shifted uneasily and scratched his head. Finally he admitted, "I don't know anything about investing."_

_"Happily, I know some very good financial advisers. Shall I make us an appointment?"_

**John**

'He says Greg's ruined me and turned me into something dull.' I'm already dull. I mean, let's face it -- pity coffee. Story of my life, that: I'm the one who's never really invited directly but shows up anyways, usually as someone else's plus-one. I'm the one hanging in the back with the pity coffee. I'm **already** dull. And boring. 'Turned me into something dull.' ....That implies that I wasn't dull before. That implies that Sherlock didn't think I was dull. 

....

Hrm. Maybe he **is** trying to protect me from pity coffee.

Alright, on to point two: 'Hearing about me won't help, it won't make things easier.' I bet that's about me enlisting. Or maybe not. Greg said he's got a lot going on in his life. Christ. Maybe it's about those other things. 'Hearing the things I've said out loud rather than over text, it doesn't make any difference.' Well I'd already figured that one out. Greg said he smiles when I've texted him. And I definitely smile when he's texted me. So no, it doesn't make a difference, not really. I like to hear his voice though. 

Okay, point three: 'Sherlock just needs to get his feelings out, that will change everything.' God... I think I get that one! I'm seeing that at home, aren't I? Harry's getting her feelings out and it isn't changing a damned thing, Mum and Da still think she's going through a phase and needs to be preached out of it. Da's getting his feelings out, he's getting them out all over Mum and Harry and they're only trying to help, but he's still unemployed. And Sherlock solves problems. Harry ran away and he just **instantly** jumped in to find her. I mean, yes it's caused problems with Mum and Da... no, Harry said there were already problems, Mum knew about it, that's why they were arguing when she ran away. But now I've got Harry's back and the minister's got her back and she's got some people to turn to. Getting her feelings out didn't change things; someone doing something changed things. 

Sherlock solves problems, but he can't solve his own problems. And he's got a lot of problems. Christ, I can't believe I didn't connect that that Holmes guy on the news is Sherlock's Da! Well, Holmes is a pretty common surname. Mind you, so is Watson. God, that's been a flippin' media circus, that has. **I'd** be in a pisser if I had to deal with the fall-out from all of that. And he has other problems too. Christ, I can hardly believe some of the things Greg's told me he's witnessed... Why would people have a kid if they're just going to pick on him like that? 

You can't solve your own problems and you can't escape from them even though you try. I wish I could help you, Sherlock. I wish I could do more than just make you smile and laugh. But I'll tell you, you make me smile and laugh and it helps me a lot.

 

May 23

**Sherlock**

_It had been a long and tiring night. He'd wracked his memory but the police sketch yielded no matches - not somebody he knew. Early this morning, he'd gone down to the youth homeless shelter to pass copies around. He'd also given out some of the reward money - after all, they were instrumental in helping him find the Burke girl. Cassidy had been found; it turned out she'd been held in a drunk tank up north but nobody'd bothered to inform any other department._

_He turned a corner onto Baker Street and strode on. He strode past Speedy's then spun on his heel and turned back._

_The girl actually yipped when he pushed the door open. "Um... Hello... Sherlock, isn't it?"_

_"Yes, and you're Molly," he said and slid the image in front of her, "I realise this may be a long shot, but do you recognise this person?"_

_She started to shake her head automatically then stopped and frowned, "Hang on... That looks... Yeah, that looks like someone I went to secondary school with."_

_"Someone in your class?"_

_"Not anymore, he went to a different college. He was a few years older than me, he'd be in university by now."_

_"Do you remember his name?"_

_"....... um........ It's been a few years.... ummmm...."_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes but swallowed his annoyance. "Sit down."_

_"Uh?" She backed onto her chair as he came around the counter and crouched before her._

_"Now, close your eyes and picture yourself where you were at the time you had regular contact with him. Find a memory and imagine it, imagine the smells, the noise in the hallways, the people calling out to each other..."_

_"Michael!" Molly yelped abruptly, "Michael Bankhurst! - that was his name! I remember him because he liked to pick on the juniors. He seemed to like hurting people but they all thought it was funny." She opened her eyes, "That was amazing! How did you know to..."_

_"Was he good at maths?"_

_"Yeah, he loved math class, he went to math camps and everything."_

_"Do you remember where he lived?"_

_"Um, not really, but we went to Westmarle Secondary school, so he must have been in that vicinity."_

_"I see. Good. You've been very is that how you study?" Sherlock interrupted himself abruptly to stare at Molly's textbook, "Does John study like that?"_

_"Um... what?" Molly turned to look at her textbook, marked up with underlining and highlighting, "Um, I guess so? Yes? What's wrong with it?"_

_Sherlock snorted, "It's the most inefficient method there is, no wonder he's failing." Abruptly he was back on his feet and pulling out his phone. "You've been very helpful," he said belatedly, "Yes, Sherlock Holmes for Detective Inspector Entwistle..."_

_He swirled out the door, leaving Molly wondering what the heck that was all about._

**John**

It was a relief to have Wednesdays off for a little while. The manager had gotten fed up with his and Sally's bickering, even though she acknowledged that Sally was the one starting it every time. She still didn't feel that 'not liking John's friend' was a sacking offence for John, but she was edging closer to feeling it was a sacking offence for Sally. He got the pasta sauce started cooking. He had a bit of time before the match at 8 and he was determined to enjoy it. And Sherlock was equally determined not to enjoy it. 

He chuckled as he slid the spaghetti into the pot. Caring, a disadvantage? Dangerous? Actually, that reminded him of one of his conversations with Norm. Put that with what Greg had told him and it actually made some sense, if not more than a little extreme.

He sat down and flipped on the telly. The channel was showing a programme about hoarding. He watched for a bit then frowned. He took out his mobile again and scrolled back to what Sherlock had said about 'people get too attached to objects, to people, to things that end.' Then he looked back at the screen. 

Some of these were people who invested so much sentiment into things that they couldn't bear to let them go. Sometimes they were things connected with people who'd died or otherwise were no longer present, but still... because they couldn't let the people go, they couldn't let the objects go, even after they were broken. Sometimes they were things that were connected to happier times in the person's life and they couldn't let them go because they brought back the feelings of happiness. So the stuff piled up and piled up until it became... dangerous. 

I'm pretty sure that's not what you mean, John thought as he watched and ate his spaghetti, But I see you do have somewhat of a point. A certain amount of disconnection is called for. But I bet you won't give up your scarf, you silly otter man! 

**Sherlock**

_ I DO NOT NEED TO IMAGINE 'MANLY PURPOSES' FOR A SCARF!!!!!!!!!!! _

_Thanks for scarring my mind's eye, you ridiculous hedgehog._

 

May 25

**Sherlock**

_He hated it when Mycroft was right, the git became overbearingly smug about it. Unfortunately, he **was** right. The reward money had been invested and would start paying a small - very small - income next month. Now all he had to do was hang on until he had enough saved up to rent a flat. He'd added a few business courses to his university curriculum - another instance where he was forced to admit that Mycroft was right. As boring as it was, he'd need the knowledge of taxes and entrepreneurial best practices if he was to strike out on his own. _

_His text alert chimed. He looked down, expecting to see the hedgehog icon - then he broke into a grin. Chuckling, he dialled a number._

_"Sherlock? What's going on, you never phone."_

_"Greg, Entwistle just texted me! - they found the pet killer!"_

_"Oh my god, you're kidding me!? The same guy who hurt that girl? Dude, that is **fantastic!** "_

_"I know!"_

_"I can't believe you helped to catch an almost- **serial killer!** "_

_"Technically, he already **was** a serial killer but they don't count non-human victims."_

_"Oh man...! Damn but bad timing, though. We're about to head out to my Gran's cottage for the weekend, otherwise I'd totally be dragging you out for tea!"_

_"Unfortunate; I'd actually go."_

_"Well, double damn! But hey, belay that order, we'll go on Monday, okay? Crap, I gotta go."_

_Sherlock grinned. He'd told Greg first because Greg had told him about the mutilated pets in the first place. He wanted to tell John next but he was almost home. He had his hand on the front door but paused at the sounds of arguing from inside the house. Then his text message chimed._

(Fri May 25 5:46pm)  
 _Don't come in_

(Fri May 25 5:46pm)  
 _Daddy's home. Mummy posted his bail._

(Fri May 25 5:47pm)  
 _He's convinced himself and Mummy that it was you who turned him in._

(Fri May 25 5:48pm)  
 _She was filing for divorce! Why did she bail him out?_

(Fri May 25 5:49pm)  
 _Neither of them are acting reasonably right now._

(Fri May 25 5:50pm)  
 _I put your practice violin in the garden shed._

(Fri May 25 5:50pm)  
 _It's better if you stay away for now._

(Fri May 25 5:52pm)  
 _Fine, I'll go._

 

May 26

**Mycroft**

(Sat May 26 7:19pm)  
 _Is Sherlock at yours?_

(Sat May 26 9:35pm)  
Sorry, I'm not. Didn't he tell you? We're at Gran's cottage for the weekend.

(Sat May 26 9:37pm)  
Wait did something happen?

(Sat May 26 9:59pm)  
Mycroft?

 

May 27

**Sherlock**

_The rain beat down on the roof. The sound created a deafening roar as it bounced around the metal walls. Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself._

_The youth shelter had been full. He'd gotten there too late and been turned away. Greg was away for the weekend and when it started to rain, he had nowhere else to go. He'd taken shelter in a shipping container. He was cold and he was hungry and he was craving desperately, so very desperately. It had never been this bad._

_But it wasn't cocaine that he was craving, nor was it heroin. No. What he was craving was so very much worse. He pulled out his mobile and scrolled back through the texts. The rain drummed down._

_John was a dull, insipid mundane to the rest of the world, yet to Sherlock, he showed flashes of brilliance in uncanny insights and a wisdom unknown in his peers. Within John's mind, underneath the layers of pubs and Bond movies and paninis, a tiny, fragile flame struggled to survive._

_Damn you, you silly hedgehog._

(Sun 00:13am)  
 _Whoops._


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whenever Henry goes overseas, a girl goes missing. Sometimes, they find their bodies."

May 27

**Sherlock**

_(Sunday 00:13am)  
Whoops._

_He pressed send and waited but no answer came. More than likely, John had already had his sandwich and thus gone to bed. That realisation was the last straw. The rain drummed down on the roof of the shipping container. He was cold, he was hungry, he was soaking wet, his parents - his entire family - hated him, he was desperately craving something to switch it all off and now even his hedgehog had deserted him._

_Why had he even been born?_

_The tears felt hot on his cold skin. Tears. Crying. Crying in a skip like an idiot, like the pathetic waste of a life that he was. Crying. Getting his feelings out, like everybody wanted him to do. There, it's done, Sherlock Holmes is crying. **Is everybody happy now?!** Sherlock Holmes is getting his feelings out! Whoopty-damn-doo-dah._

_He wept until he had nothing left to weep. It hadn't done a damned thing. He was still wet, still cold, still hungry - nothing had changed._

_The rain had lifted to a light drizzle that felt as pathetic as he did. He got up and set off down the street. Weasle had told him about the skips 'round the backs of restaurants. They'd probably be well picked over by now but maybe he could find something._

_A woman passed him as he poked through a skip on Baker Street. He ignored her as she ignored him... until she stopped and looked back at him. "Don't I know you?" Sherlock shook his head quickly, hiding his face behind the turned collar of his coat. "I've seen you 'round the cafe a few times, haven't I?" Sherlock looked like he was ready to bolt but froze in shock when a torch beam suddenly illuminated his face._

_The woman behind the torch was a few years older than Mummy. "I've seen you at Tea Palace a few times," she said. Her eyes flicked over him. "That's a Belstaff coat, fairly new. Trouble at home? You're dressed much too posh and you haven't been sleeping rough for long."_

_To his horror, Sherlock felt himself nod._

_"What's your name?"_

_"sh-Sherlock Holmes."_

_Her eyes searched his for several moments. "Oh, I see," she said quietly then appeared to make a decision. She turned towards the door of a flat and beckoned him to follow, "Well, come in and warm up a bit, Sherlock Holmes. Have a bite to eat and get some rest, then if you want to, you can tell Mrs. Hudson all about it."_

 

May 28

**Greg**

"Is Sherlock at yours?"

"No? We got back late last night. Hey, what's going on? You never did tell me."

"Mummy posted Daddy's bail on Friday..."

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?! I thought they were getting divorced! Why would she post the guy's bail if she's divorcing his arse?!"

"I don't pretend to understand it."

"So what happened?"

"Daddy has convinced Mummy that all of this is Sherlock's fault. They were on the warpath about it when he came home. I told him not to come in. I thought he would go to your house."

"Yeah well we were away at Gran's for the weekend."

"I didn't know that. I would never have told him if I'd known..."

"Hey whoa, slow down...!"

"I think.... I think.... I may have... given him the wrong idea..."

"What do you mean?"

"I think maybe he thinks he's been kicked out permanently."

" **Oh for God's sake** , Mycroft!" Greg passed a hand over his face, unable to believe how monumentally stupid the super-genius could be when it came to his family. "Alright, look, I know there's a kids' homeless shelter he goes to sometimes... **SHUT UP** , Mycroft, at least it's danger he can defend himself against! I'll check 'round there and let you know if I find anything, alright? Alright. Bye."

Greg cut the call and rubbed his forehead. Fucking Holmeses!! "Hey Rocky! Wanna go for a walk?"

**Sherlock**

_The sun - such as it was - was well up when he woke. He looked around at the room where he'd been put, blinking blearily, then looked down at the borrowed t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he was wearing. His clothes were missing. In their place was a stack of towels and a note saying they'd been taken for cleaning. He got up and shuffled off to get a shower._

_He finished towelling his hair and ran his fingers through the snarls in his damp curls then noticed that a comb had been set on the dresser. He raked it through his hair then crept cautiously out towards the sounds from the small kitchen. He peeked around the corner, unaware that he looked for all the world like a skittish kitten._

_The woman who'd called herself Mrs. Hudson glanced up at him with a warm smile. "The kettle's just boiled," she said, "Come have a cuppa. I know you like the good stuff; it's from Mariage Freres. Mrs. Turner next door brought some back for me after her last trip to Paris." She poured a cup and let him doctor it to his taste. "But you were brought up on tea like this, hm?"_

_Sherlock shook his head, "No. I never had tea before last year."_

_"Oh?"_

_"A.... friend, I guess... he bought me a cup at Speedy's, that's how I came to be there."_

_"Speedy's does regular bags. Did you work up to Tea Palace from there?"_

_"Yes, I liked it well enough that I wanted more and when I saw there were all different varieties and ways of brewing, I became very interested because I like to experiment and..." he trailed off, aware that this was the point where people started giving him the glances that meant 'shut up now.'_

_She glanced up from pouring her own milk, "Go on."_

_He blinked. "Well... the more I researched, the more I learned and the more there was to experiment with. ...I liked it."_

_"Is that your hobby, then? Experimenting?"_

_"I suppose..."_

_"What kinds of experiments do you do?"_

_"Mostly crime related. Decomposition rates and deterioration rates and the like."_

_"You're interested in crime?"_

_"I like solving puzzles," he admitted, wondering why she hadn't shut him down yet, "Crimes often offer a lot of puzzles. There are so many variables involved, not the least of which are the motivations on the parts of the people involved, but I can often see the patterns in the variables but I have to know what it is that I'm seeing first."_

_Mrs. Hudson nodded, then asked, "Are you the boy who helped Patricia find out what happened with her puppy?"_

_Sherlock nodded, "Yes, they've caught the perpetrator. I was right, he was a budding serial killer, perfecting his technique before trying it on people. He was processing his second human victim when they caught him. He'd hit the jugular this time, she was nearly bled dry when they found her. Last I heard, she was still in critical condition and they're not sure if she's going to live."_

_"But she has a fighting chance, thanks to you. She was the second victim?"_

_Sherlock nodded, "The first victim is alive but mute, they don't know if her larynx will recover enough to speak."_

_Mrs. Hudson nodded thoughtfully, "So two girls are alive because of your love of puzzles. Your parents should be very proud." She paused for a moment then added gently, "But they're not, are they." Sherlock looked away. "That man on the telly - is he related to you?"_

_He nodded curtly, "My father."_

_"Does he blame you for his own problems?" He stared at her and she reached to tap lightly at the marks on his arm. "I know what those mean," she said and pushed up her own sleeve. He stared at the scars from many small slices on her thin arm then up at her sweet, kindly face. "There's ice in the icebox," she said, waving a hand behind her, "It works and it leaves fewer marks to question." Then he noticed the faint marks of mild frostbite in her elbows and stared at her again._

_She sighed with a sad smile, "My guess is you have no other family and few friends? You were sleeping rough because it got too hot at home, but you can't really leave because you're still a boy, you have no skills, you can't support yourself."_

_"I can't leave because I have nowhere else to go."_

_She pushed her hand through her hair and fluffed out her curls. He stared at her, seeing now the fading bruise underneath the makeup. She smiled wanly, "I know just what you mean."_

**John**

He wiped his brow, puffing hard from exertion. "Thanks!" he called over, taking his juice box back and drawing a long swig off the straw. 

Greg just grinned. He seemed to be very amused by this. "Hey, I brought you something. Gimme your phone for a sec." He took the phone and turned it back to back with his own. The phones beeped as a file transmitted between them. "There! Open your music app!"

John did as he was told. He smiled, slightly puzzled, as guitar strains wafted out, and turned up the volume button. "Is that you?"

Greg nodded. "Not just me. Just wait."

"You have a shite voice," John laughed after listening for a few moments. 

"Sod off, my voice is fantastic, I'm the next Bono!"

"More like the next Psy," John teased. Then the song reached the bridge and Greg's guitar was joined by a sweetly soaring violin. John's jaw fell slowly open. "Is that....?"

"Yeah!" Greg beamed, "I'm really surprised that he knew it but it turned out his violin tutor loves _Dust In The Wind_ and makes all of his students learn it."

"It's gorgeous. Both of you. Well not your singing voice, obviously." They both laughed. "Thank you, Greg, this is.... You don't know what this means to me."

 

May 30

**Sherlock**

_Over the last few days, he had learned quite a bit about the woman called Mrs. Hudson. She was different from anyone else he had ever met. If she thought him strange, she seemed to think him interesting because of it. She took his ranting for passion rather than paranoia. And if she didn't think him 'good', she didn't think he was wrong, either._

_"Well," she'd said with some careful deliberation. She'd listened while he described his parents' definitions of what it meant to be a 'good boy,' which amounted to turning a blind eye and a deaf ear, don't get involved, don't speak of it, don't rock the boat -- all of which Sherlock found himself incapable of doing. "It's certainly not the way I was brought up but I see more and more of it nowadays."_

_"They tell me I shouldn't speak of things that don't concern me."_

_"But they do concern you." Sherlock's mouth snapped shut. "They concern you very much, that's why you can't **not** get involved."_

_"And then I'm not being 'good.'"_

_"But you are being **right.** You get involved because it's the right thing to do."_

**John**

"Harry?"

"...Johnny?"

".....Going out?"

".......Yeah. You?"

".........Yeah. Where to?"

"...........Just, y'know, out."

"..............Me too."

"............I guess we could go together?"

".........Yeah. You want to get a sandwich?"

".......Yeah."

".....Great."

"...Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

**Sherlock**

_She didn't seem bothered that he had a 'friend' who lived in his mobile, either. Or that he had gotten his A-levels by online college. Or that he was taking his first year of university the same way._

_She wasn't like any other middle aged woman he'd ever met. She had the silly wittering and the fluffy permed curls and underneath the soap operas and the radio dramas was a clever mind that had deduced him even before he had deduced her. She wasn't like other women._

_John wasn't like other teenagers._

_Even Greg had been different lately._

_What was going on?_

 

May 31

**Molly**

**She heard the bell jingle and turned around, then eeped a little and jumped back when she saw that _he_ was standing there. He stepped in and snapped an object down onto the till.**

**"Um.... what's this?"**

**"It's a USB stick, obviously."**

**"Oh, um.. is it for..."**

**"It's for you."**

**"It is?"**

**"Because of your information, the police were able to catch the pet killer."**

**"Oh, um... That's wonderful! ... I mean it's also terrible... to think that I knew him.... I mean, I didn't actually _know_ him, we were at the same school..." He turned to leave. "Um, what's on the stick?"**

**"Thanks."**

**And that was that. He swept out again and the door of the cafe jingled shut behind him.**

**Curious, she put the stick into her laptop and stared at the contents. What a strange gift.**

 

June 1

**Greg**

"Hey!"

"Greg! Hi Rocky! Whooza good boy? Yeahhhh. What're you doing here?"

"You said your shift ended at four, we thought we'd come pick you up. It was Rocky's idea."

"Haha, I'm sure it was. Thanks, that's really nice of you."

"Is everything alright? You seem a little head-down."

John sighed, "I wish I could say things were better but they're not as bad as some."

Greg nodded then shook his head, "Christ, you too? And you're, like, the nicest guy. Hey, one of my mate's is throwing a birthday bash tonight, do you want to come along?"

"That depends, do I get pity coffee?"

"Haha! All the pity coffee you want!"

**Sherlock**

_"Mrs. Hudson?" he called up, "They had the milk and the scones but I couldn't find the cheese that you had asked for. And I brought take-away, is that alright?" There was no answer. "Mrs. Hudson?" He opened the door of 221a and poked his head in. "Mrs. Hudson?"_

_She was at the kitchen table. She was supporting her head with one hand and looked like she had a terrible headache. "Mrs. Hudson?" Then he noticed the trickle of water from the crook of her elbow. He dropped the bags and went to her. "Mrs. Hudson?"_

_ "My husband is coming home tomorrow." _

_Sherlock's jaw set but he nodded, "I see."_

_"He travels often on business, most frequently to America. I'll put a candle in the window when it's safe for you to come back."_

_Sherlock blinked furiously to keep the tears from welling up. There was nothing he could do. He'd talked to the renters in 221b -- they'd called in domestic violence a few times but the police had been useless. The people in 221c were about to leave, after Mr. Hudson had threatened them. There was nothing he could do. So he made tea and served up the take-away and put the milk into the fridge._

_His mobile chimed._

_"Is that your friend?"_

_"If you like. Yes. He's at a party and he's drunk. He's bored. He texts me silly things about topics I have no interest in but his turns of phrase are rather entertaining. Apparently he's so hungry, he's 100% potato. At least, I believe that's how I'm meant to interpret that." Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Oh dear."_

_"What is it?"_

_"He says he thinks the cocktail sausages might be severed genitalia. Also I believe he is now using pina coladas as a euphamism for his penis."_

_Mrs. Hudson choked on her tea but didn't seem to be offended. "Oh my goodness!"_

_"He's at the party with Greg," Sherlock said and threw his arms up in disgust, "There, now he really **is** the friend of a friend who's at the party anyways and hanging in the back corner, texting. I'll bet he's holding pity coffee." Mrs. Hudson was giggling now. _

_They ate in silence for a bit. After a while, Sherlock said, "You said he often travels to America...." He swallowed a mouthful of tea. He'd thought Mrs. Hudson shared his interest in crimes, American crime in particular, but... "Why are you so interested in the American news?"_

_"It's... it isn't something that should...."_

_"Mrs. Hudson," he cut in, "When I was a child, I saw my great aunt shot through the head and chest as she walked beside me. I saw her face come apart as the bullet exited. I wiped her brains off my face and watched the tissue twitching. I watched her collapse onto the sidewalk and a pool of her blood spread around my feet. I've seen the human wreckage in rehab and in shelters and I know their stories. I know what people think up to do to their children and their wives and their partners. I feel more comfortable in the shelters than I do in school, even though there's no safety there. There's very little that frightens me, Mrs. Hudson."_

_She was silent for a few minutes. "Whenever Henry goes overseas, a girl goes missing. Sometimes they find their bodies."_

_"You believe it isn't a coincidence."_

_"I'm.... almost certain it isn't. The police in Florida were investigating but they had to coordinate with the English police forces and the red tape entanglements... They haven't been able to find enough evidence to connect him to the events."_

_Sherlock was silent, thoughtful._

 

June 3

**Mycroft**

_Sherlock had come home the night before and refused to say where he had been. Mummy and Daddy hadn't wasted any time starting in on him - their youngest son had up and vanished for a week and all they could do was berate him. They claimed to have worried, which Mycroft knew was false, given that they hadn't actually looked for him. No, they had seemed rather pleased that he had gone._

_They had berated Mycroft for not keeping Sherlock in line. They'd lectured him on responsiblity and duty. They'd made absolutely certain he understood how disappointed they were. He'd nodded and agreed and accepted his failure then he went back to his room and promptly vomited everything he'd had eaten that day._

_Sherlock had gone out late last night and come home pale and grim. He'd gone to his room and refused to come out. There was no sound of the violin and no clatter of the netbook's keyboard. He didn't acknowlege Mycroft's knocks or his texts._

_He didn't know where his little brother had gone and didn't know what he had done. But things were getting worse._

_He remembered the bruise and the broken syringe and he shuddered._

**Sherlock**

_He curled up on the bed and pressed his hands to his ears, but nothing could drown out the memories of the faint muffled bellowing, the breaking glass, and the frantic begging of a high voice._

 

June 5

**John**

Harry was over at her girlfriend's place. She'd taken to staying there a couple of nights a week. John didn't blame her; her girlfriend's parents were being more understanding than the Watsons. 

Da's drinking was becoming an issue. They didn't have a lot of money to start with, they couldn't afford for him to be buying so many six packs. John knew he shouldn't take it personally but he couldn't help it. He was working hours he couldn't afford, the way his grades were slipping. He worked so he could help his family pay for food and rent, not so his Da could piss it away on beer. 

He walked down the street, pausing at the street corner to look up at the few stars barely visible through the London light pollution. He knew what Greg was up to, he wasn't **that** stupid. He wished he wasn't so certain it was going to end badly. 

He just hoped it wouldn't destroy his friendship with Sherlock.

**Sherlock**

_He'd stared at the leather case for a long, long time. Finally, he put it back in its hiding place and went to get a piece of ice._

_Mrs. Hudson was right. It did help._

 

June 6

**Sherlock**

_(Thurs 11:45pm - L. Entwistle)  
Received your requests re Hudson. Will do what I can._

_(Thurs 1:40 pm - L. Entwistle)  
Received word from hospital. Bankhurst's second victim has died. _

_(Thurs 2:17pm - L. Entwistle)  
Charges have been upgraded to first degree murder. DA believes evidence is sufficient to convict._

 

June 7

**Sherlock**

_He'd spent every day this week researching all of the stories Mrs. Hudson had pointed him towards and collating them with Mr. Hudson's travel schedule she'd provided him. There were others, not just in America, but he travelled to America the most often. She was right, there was definitely a pattern. He had talked to Detective Inspector Entwistle yesterday and she had promised to provide him with whatever she could._

_And now he had to deal with the idiocy his brother and his stupid pal had cooked up._

**John**

He knew it, he'd just KNOWN it was going to end in a disaster, he'd **told** Greg to leave it alone, he **knew** better than to go along with this stupid suggestion and look what had happened! Stood up and humiliated with nothing but a USB stick to show for his effort. 

He walked home, feeling a complete pillock. And he'd worn his suit, too. Dammit! And what did that even mean, 'he didn't want to be like Ella,' really what the heck did that even mean?? Sherlock wasn't a horse girl! Sherlock had obsessions sure but he liked crimes and tea and violin music, not horses. 

....John had been put off by the horse girl's obsession. He hadn't wanted to date her again. He stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly understanding. _"I'm becoming invested in this.... You've become something I can't see myself walking away from... I don't want to be another Ella..."_ **He understood!**

But Sherlock had chattered excitedly about tea and experiments and crime and John hadn't gotten bored. No, he'd gotten interested. He'd gotten into classical music, drawn in by Sherlock's love of the violin. He'd expanded his vocabulary. He'd gotten better at knitting and had plans to make another scarf. He'd already bought the wool - the same soft plush yarn, this time in an inky blue that had captivated John and Greg had insisted it would bring out Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock's obsessions had expanded John's world. 

He sighed and put his key in the lock and let himself in. He stripped off his suit and hung it up and changed into his pyjamas. Then he put the USB stick into his laptop and looked at the files. 

There was mindmapping software. There were e-books about study techniques and thinking habits. There were doc files describing something called the memory palace and something called the Roman room. There were kanban software and pomodoro software and time management PDFs. 

And there was music. Various pieces of classical music, some of which John recognised but couldn't yet put a name to. Most of it was a single violin.

There was a read-me describing how music from the Baroque period had been proven to aid concentration and creativity. It went on to describe the software and the techniques and all the ways to put the tools to use, to improve John's study habits. It was signed "- SH."

John stared. Greg had said it: Sherlock was surly and stand-offish and could be a right arse sometimes - but he gave back, in ways that really counted. He might not show up for John's graduation but he would try to make sure that John had one.

**Sherlock**

_It hurt. He tried to ignore it but he couldn't. **John.** His Facebook photograph hadn't done him justice. He looked much better, with a friendly open face drawn by nerves, and sun-kissed hair deliberately mussed until it stood up like a hedgehog's spines. He looked bloody awful in a suit -- he looked uptight, uncomfortable. His was a demeanor that would be far more comfortable in a jumper or at most, a rough tweed sport coat and a flat cap. _

_Ooo..... that was a much better image..._

_He shook himself and strode on. Damn Greg and his meddling anyhow! Who did he think he was, Mycroft?? Clearly his older brother had been a terrible influence on him. He couldn't, **couldn't** meet John now! It would be too much. John would turn off from him, just like he had the horse girl, and he would shun Sherlock from his life and that would be it. There was only one way to keep that from happening. _

_He strode down Baker Street and saw a candle burning in the window of 221a._

_"Mrs. Hudson?"_

_She looked up and smiled at him, her dimple unable to form completely because of the swelling at the side of her face. Water wept from her elbow. If the sight of John had been a punch to the stomach, the sight of Mrs. Hudson was a round-house elbow to the jaw. "Henry's gone to Paris for the weekend," she said softly, "He'll be back again on Monday."_

_Sherlock swallowed. "He has to be making his arrangements somehow. A pay-per-use mobile is most likely. It's a long shot, he might be using disposable numbers..."_

_Mrs. Hudson chewed her knuckles thoughtfully. "I think I know. He'll have it with him in Paris now."_

_"I've found other evidence and Detective Entwistle has been in contact with the Florida investigation. But, Florida has the death penalty; he wouldn't stand trial in Florida, would he? The British authorities wouldn't permit that."_

_"Oh, Henry is from Florida, he has dual citizenship."_

_"If he was convicted in Florida, he could face the death penalty."_

_Mrs. Hudson was silent for a long time. "I'm not a good person either, Sherlock," she whispered, "Good people don't think what I'm thinking right now."_


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft wasn't entirely certain he could handle his little brother being the boytoy of an aging cougar!

June 8

**Sherlock**

_"You probably think I'm foolish."_

_"If you weren't ready, you weren't ready," Mrs Hudson said softly, "If the way things are makes you both happy, why, that's all that matters."_

_Sherlock lifted his head from his hands and looked at her with that baffled look she'd come to expect. He stared at the teacup again. "I just.. don't want to risk that he'll realise what I'm really like and not want anything more to do with me. I tried to cut him off that could happen but...."_

_"But?"_

_He looked away, "...it was too late for me. I was already invested, no matter how hard I tried not to be."_

_"He fills a need in you, then." He startled at that and stared at her. "When did you realise you were 'invested', as you call it?"_

_He looked away again. "...When my father smashed my laptop," he admitted, "When I thought everything I'd worked for had been destroyed."_

_"And what did John do?"_

_"I.........." He fell silent, unable to look at her. He felt her take his hand and glanced up -- her sleeve had pulled up enough to reveal a glimpse of the fine scars that decorated her inner arm. "I....... tried to........... I mixed an overdose of cocaine," he admitted at last._

_Mrs. Hudson simply nodded and squeezed his hand. "And John?"_

_Again with that baffled look that made her smile inwardly. "He... he was texting me, he didn't know... he....... or somehow he knew and he.... ...... begged me to stay. .........No one ever wants me to stay. Only John."_

_The silence stretched out but it wasn't uncomfortable as he'd expected. "I'm glad you listened to him," Mrs. Hudson said at last and smiled, "Because now I have somebody to talk to about these things, somebody who understands." And his head shot up and he stared at her, as though it had never occurred to him. She skootched her chair over and held out her arms, "Come here."_

_Sherlock leaned against her and hugged her and let her stroke his hair._

**Mycroft**

_It was an overcast and frankly gloomy afternoon, which befit Mycroft's mood. Trust Greg to get it all wrong. If he had listened to Mycroft's suggestion, it would have turned out fine but no, he'd had too many romantic notions and gotten carried away. Sherlock hadn't come home last night and neither he nor John were speaking to Greg._

_Right now, Mycroft didn't feel much like speaking to him either. He was winding his way down Baker Street, on his way to the clothier shop on Chittern to pick up his new suit, ignoring the chiming of his mobile. He looked at it briefly to make sure it wasn't anyone else, then looked up just in time to see a familiar Belstaff coat._

_"It's just other people's garbage that they hadn't got the stomach to bin," Sherlock huffed._

_"Well, one man's trash is another man's treasure," said the woman beside him, patting his arm fondly. She looked to be around Mummy's age but Mycroft didn't recognise her._

_"I still don't see the point."_

_"The point, dear boy, is to get out of my stifling flat for a bit. A nice little ramble is good exercise."_

_"I suppose," Sherlock grumbled but in a good-natured tone that Mycroft hadn't heard before. Sherlock glanced up and saw him, "What are **you** doing here?"_

_"Out to collect my new suit," Mycroft replied, "Nice to see you too, little brother."_

_The woman looked up and smiled, "Oh, you must be Mycroft! Sherlock's mentioned you."_

_Mycroft tried not to roll his eyes, "I'm sure he has."_

_"I'm Mrs. Hudson, dear, so nice to meet you. We were just going 'round the yard sales, weren't we? Sherlock looks in on me since my husband is so often overseas."_

_"That's.. nice of him," Mycroft said with a puzzled glance at his brother, who shrugged minutely with an expression that dared him to comment further. There was a protectiveness there as well, and the woman - Mrs. Hudson - spoke with affection but there appeared to be nothing more carnal than that. Thank heavens, Mycroft wasn't entirely certain he could handle his little brother being the boytoy of an aging cougar!_

_"He's very kind and such a pleasure to have around." Mycroft resisted the urge to ask 'We're talking about the same Sherlock, right?' but only with difficulty. "Will you come up for tea, then?"_

_Oh he dearly **would** like to have tea with this middle-aged matron who thought his little brother was pleasant and kind, and find out what kind of act Sherlock was spinning and to what purpose - but the warning flash in his brother's eyes made him pause. It was.... something. He didn't know quite how to interpret it. It reminded him of a child with a prized toy he was afraid would be taken away._

_Then he remembered he'd seen that look once before, when the existance of John was first known. "Thank you kindly, but I do have an appointment and I mustn't keep the tailors waiting," Mycroft deflected and his little brother relaxed. He said his goodbyes and went on his way, glancing back to see the flat door close behind his brother._

_How **very** interesting. He took out his mobile to call Greg then remembered he wasn't speaking to him._

 

June 9

**Greg**

Nobody loves me, everybody hates me.

Going to the garden to eat worms.

.....

Yuck.

Think I'll go out for pancakes instead. Sorry fellas, you get to live.

 

June 12

**John**

"...Johnny?"

"....Yeah."

".....Are you alright?"

"......No."

".......You look like you've lost your best friend."

"........I might have done."

 

June 13

**John**

Pet killer? There was a pet killer? Sherlock never mentioned a pet killer, did he? He thought back, trying to remember, and put another panini into the grill.

"Hey, you're back! Good to see you again!" John glanced up to see his manager approaching a customer. "John, pull a macchiato, will you?"

He nodded and went to do as instructed.

"Hey, John, how's the Freak?"

Ah. Sally Donovan, just what he didn't need. "Last I talked to him, he was feeling a little hoarse." Ha ha. He pushed the macchiato across to the blonde girl the manager was talking to then went into the back room for his break. 

 

June 14

**Greg**

"Pity chocolate?"

John gave him the hairy eyeball but took the offered paper cup and took a swig of the hot, sweet liquid. It was pissing down rain but that never stopped a rugby match. "Thanks," he grunted, "I'm still pissed at you."

"I know," Greg sighed, "Everybody is. Sherlock isn't speaking to me, you're not speaking to me, even Mycroft won't return my calls. I tried eating worms but they tasted terrible so I punished myself with some greasy pancakes instead."

"I told you it would go wrong."

"I know."

"I told you to respect his privacy."

"I know."

"And you didn't listen."

"I know." 

"Did you really eat worms?"

"Mmmmmayyyy-be."

"Why did you snap a picture of me just now?"

"No reason."

"Well don't show it to Sherlock. I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to think about me right now."

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock stared as the image unfurled across his mobile screen, captioned "Wet T-shirt contest." It was John, drenched in rain, wearing rugby shorts and a t-shirt, shaking water from his soaked hair. The sopping t-shirt fabric clung to his chest, draping across the muscle and catching on nipples hardened by the cold, the fold lines delineating the length of his torso, drawing the eye down to where the shorts defined the top of muscled thigh and **WHERE THE HELLWAS THIS COMING FROM?!?**_

_He slapped the phone down and shook his head, weirded out. What the **hell** was Greg thinking?! Clearly he'd been reading too many romance novels. He shook his head again and tried to re-focus his concentration on his university coursework. _

_...had John been wearing an athletic cup? ...pretty certain he hadn't... He shook his head again and sternly resisted the urge to double-check, then stuffed his mobile into his pocket and tried to concentrate. _

_He'd get Greg for this. Somehow._

 

June 15

**Sherlock**

_He'd spent the day with Mrs. Hudson, tagging along with her as she did her errands and visited her bookkeeper and small business advisor._

_"The little cases will be your bread and butter," Mrs. Hudson had said._

_"Most of them could be solved in three minutes if people just paid attention."_

_"But most people can't pay attention the way that you do," she'd replied, "That's why they'll turn to you."_

_"Boring," he'd huffed._

_Mrs. Hudson smiled, "To you, yes. To them, they're important enough for them to turn to you, so you should charge an appropriate fee for your time."_

_"And that's where I come in," the bookkeeper had said. What followed had been, if uninteresting, certainly worthwhile._

_Now he sat at home on the couch, tuning out another 'call Sherlock down on the carpet then argue about him as if he wasn't there' session while Mycroft hovered in the background._

_He closed his eyes and remembered Mrs. Hudson cupping his cheek and saying "One person's trash is another's treasure," before drawing him into a hug._

 

June 16

**John**

"I'm still not forgiven?"

John took the towel from Greg and wiped the sweat and grass stains off his face, "Not until he calls me or returns one of my texts."

"Apology juice box?" John snorted but accepted it. "That was a great match."

John nodded, "Yeah, the team's really starting to come together. Be nice if we could actually **win** one some day."

"Ha ha!"

"Let me get changed then you can buy me another pity coffee."

"Sure thing," Greg agreed. When John returned, they set off together. They were crossing near one of the clinics when a flash of yellow drew Greg's attention. He nudged John and pointed with a grin, "Crime scene! Wanna bet You-Know-Who is sniffing about?"

"Oh God, Greg...!" But Greg was already heading over and John couldn't not tag along. 

The woman who appeared to be in charge turned as they approached, "Sorry, lads, off limits."

"I know, sorry. We were hoping a friend of ours might have been about. He takes an interest in police investigations."

The detective's eyes sparkled at once, "Describe him?"

"Um, tall, dark hair, really light blue eyes, usually wears a dark coat..."

"Name?" She was grinning now.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Missed him by a half-hour," the detective chuckled, "I'm Detective Inspector Entwistle, who might you be?"

"Greg Lestrade," Greg extended his hand, "And this is our friend, John Watson."

"Pleased to meet you, Greg, John... So what jobs do you lads want when you get out of college?"

"Yours!" Greg blurted and promptly blushed, "Uh, I mean... I want to be a detective."

"Good show," she said easily, "Friend of Sherlock's, paid attention to him?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good! - that boy's a prodigy, you'll learn as much from him as you will from the department."

"Will do, ma'am!"

"Ready to be pissed on and take a lot of verbal abuse from people who expect you to pull a magic wand out of your arse and presto solve the crime?" she was still grinning.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good, then you just might succeed in this field. Here's my card. Let me know when you enlist, I'll put in a word for you." She turned to John, "So you're the famous John."

John blinked. "Uh.. I don't know about famous..."

"Sherlock's mentioned you a few times," the detective said, "You make him laugh with your texts."

John blinked again. "He said that?"

"I've seen it. So what are your plans for your life?"

"Um, medical doctor, military," John mumbled, caught off guard. 

"Good show," she said again, "Well, boys, I have to get back to work. Got a case to sew up. All over but the paperwork, now."

Greg couldn't help it, "Sherlock solved it?"

"Ha! No, we had it sussed before he arrived."

"I bet he was put out."

She shook her head, "Not really."

"Is Sherlock going to enlist as well?" John interrupted.

The detective's smile turned sad and she shook her head, "He can't."

"Oh..... because of...? Oh. I see."

"Next best thing for him is private investigation," the detective inspector continued, "It'd be a shame for all that talent to go to waste. Alright, lads, be off with you, I've got work to do."

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you, ma'am!" Greg started walking backwards, still waving, and stumbled over a kerb, nearly twisting his ankle. 

"Geez, would you watch where you're going?"

"Yeah, right, haha, sorry."

They carried on to the coffee shop but John wasn't listening to Greg's excited babble. He was thinking about Sherlock.

 

June 9

**John**

"Two cappucinos, one chai, and one macchiato," John said, passing the cups over, "Enjoy." He turned as the group of young women went to their table. He turned to help the next customer but occasionally glanced back at the group, now deep in conversation and talking with their hands.

"Aha, there's Peggy." John looked up as his manager approached, "John, did you give her a macchiato?" He nodded. "Did you charge her for it?"

"I'm sorry, was I not supposed to?"

"No no, it's fine, I'll refund her, it's fine. She was a regular here, that's all. She stopped coming and I thought she'd moved or something but it turns out she was in hospital, she's lucky to be alive."

"Oh wow, really?" John turned to glance at the little group. Then he realised that they weren't just gesculating, they really **were** talking with their hands, "Oh, they're signing?"

"Yeah, that's why she was in the hospital. Some lunatic attacked her, cut her throat and almost killed her, but her voice box was destroyed."

"Oh wow!"

"What? Did the Freak finally flip?"

John gaped. "Where the hell do you get off, Sally? I keep telling you, Sherlock studies crimes to **solve** them." He didn't notice the heads snap up at the group's table. 

"You still haven't actually met him yet, have you," she sneered, "Believe me, Sherlock Holmes is **not** how you think he is. He's a freak and a creep and mark my words, one day, he'll be standing over a body because he put it there!"

"What's this?"  
"Did she say Sherlock Holmes?"  
"What are you saying about Sherlock?"

John looked up as they were suddenly surrounded by the group of young women. The blonde girl to whom he'd given the macchiato was at the centre of the group, her chest heaving, drawing his eyes to the livid scars on her chest, face and throat. "Do you know Sherlock?" he asked.

The girl's hands started to fly angrily. "She says he told the police where to find her! She says he saved her life!" her friends translated. All too soon the scarred girl ran out of vocabulary and pulled out a notebook. She started to write, the pen digging angrily into the paper. 

"'Sherlock Holmes worked out the connection to the guy who was killing pets,'" John read, "Oh my god, the pet killer! My mate said Sherlock came to talk to her, it turned out she went to school with that bloke! She said Sherlock used his memory palace trick to help her remember the bloke's name and that's how they cracked the case!"

"'Tell your friend she saved my life and so did Sherlock Holmes,'" John read as the pen stabbed through the paper, tearing it in places, "'He visited me in the hospital and taught me some sign, I don't know if I'll ever talk again but I'm alive and I'm learning sign and you have no right to talk like that or call him names, he isn't a freak he's an angel.'"

"You'll get no argument from me," John told her, "He's my best friend. I think he's fascinating and.. well, right now, I couldn't be more proud to say that."

"'He's an angel and so is your other friend, I'm alive today because of your friends.'"

John blinked hard, feeling his throat grow tight. "Look, I.. well I wouldn't blame you if you decided not to come here anymore.. but if you do, will you teach me some sign? I'm going into the military to become a doctor and I'm told that hearing injuries are pretty common."

The girl stared at him then cast a baleful glare at Sally - then she nodded and smiled. 

"You can take your break now, John," his manager said quietly, "Sally, a word in my office, if you please..."

 

June 10

**John**

"Want to walk a bit?"

"I've got a match on soon, you know."

"I know. I'll walk you there." John shrugged but fell in beside Greg. "Has he responded to you yet?"

"No. You?"

"Nope. He will eventually though. It just takes him a lot longer to cool off than most people."

"I think he's cooled off on me," John sighed, "I really think this is it, this time."

"You didn't give up before; don't give up now."

"This is coming from Greg, the Giver of Shit Advice." Greg laughed and John smirked. They turned a corner John was unfamiliar with and he asked, "Where are we going?"

"There's something I want to show you."

"What?"

"Just come on."

John sighed and shook his head. Nevertheless, he followed Greg as he was led up to the door of one of the poshest old houses John had ever seen in London. He glanced around himself as Greg rang the bell. 

The door opened and revealed the face of a maidservant. "Hello," Greg said politely, "Is Sherlock about?" John felt his heart drop into his stomach. The woman turned about without a word but ushered them inside. He glanced about, feeling well out of his league, and tried to keep his scuffed shoes on the mat. 

"Who's that, then?"

"Someone looking for Sherlock. It's probably the police again." The sounds of women's voices approaching made John look around to see a woman older than his mother approaching. "Oh... it's the Lestrade boy," she sniffed, "I thought it would be the police." She sounded disappointed by that, almost put-out. Then she glanced over at John with a barely-concealed sneer, "What have you brought with you?"

"This is Sherlock's friend, John. John, this is Mrs. Holmes."

John almost missed his cue. "Um, hello. A pleasure to meet you."

She stared at the offered hand as though it had cooties. "Oh... yes. The one who knit that..... scarf, I supposed it was meant to be."

"He doesn't look like much, does he?" John flinched; a little old lady peered around the corner. Apparently she thought she was whispering. "Sherlock finally gets a friend and this is the best he can do?"

"Yes, Mum," Mrs. Holmes said, "Do excuse Grandmama, her hearing is not what it used to be."

"He looks like something dragged him from the gutter!"

Mrs. Holmes pasted her polite smile on, "Sherlock is not here right now..."

"Or through the gutter."

"Oh. Do you know where he is?" Greg asked, just to watch Mrs. Holmes's lips twitch. 

"He's always out and about. Getting into trouble." Her tone implied that this was somehow Greg's doing. "Lately he's been running away from home, putting us all to worry... No doubt he's been... 'experimenting,' again." Her gaze flicked pointedly onto John then flicked away again. John blanched. 

"Oh. Well, when he comes home, will you give him this? It's for one of his university courses. I found it in a second-hand book shop. It's last year's version so it should still be good."

"'Second hand?'" Mrs. Holmes's voice dripped with disdain. She waved the maid forward to take the potentially-infectious or explosive second-hand textbook. "How... thoughtful of you. But then I suppose that comes naturally to you." Her gaze flicked over John again, "And you." John kept firm control of his jaw. 

"He certainly isn't quality, is he? We never expected Sherlock to amount to much and his taste in 'friends' certainly proves it."

Then John felt the rage ignite and explode out of him. "Now see here!" he barked, "He might be your son and your grandson, but he's **my** friend and I won't hear him spoken of like that! My parents might be poor but at least they taught me some manners!"

The Holmes women gaped at him in shock. "Well! I never..!"

"Then perhaps it's about time!"

Mrs. Holmes turned on Greg, "Leave this house at once! Don't you **ever** bring this insolent boy around here again!"

"No fear of that, ma'am," Greg grinned cheekily and they beat a hasty retreat. At the end of the walk, Greg turned to John and grinned, "And that was only ten minutes!"

John was shaking. "I can't... That was... That was his Mum?"

"Yup!"

"That was his Mum! She's his **Mum!** "

"And Grandmum, yup!"

"She talks like that and she's his **Mum!** "

"And his Dad is ten times worse!"

"Oh my God...." 

"You saw how she tried to make it seem like I'm leading Sherlock into trouble? And she practically accused you of being a dealer!"

"Christ, yeah, I couldn't believe that. And the things that old lady was saying.. She's his grandmother??"

"They say she can't tell her own volume but I know for a fact it's bullshit. That old lady knows exactly what she's saying. She couldn't wait to get old so she could use that excuse."

"God... I thought... I thought mums and grandmums were supposed to **love** their children."

"Yeah, well.. I think if the Holmeses got that memo, they binned it as being too common."

John fell silent as they resumed walking down the street. "...Is it that obvious that my parents..."

"They're **Holmeses** , they're all like that. They all read people like books." John glanced down at himself again. Greg stopped and looked at him, "Did they get to you? You can't let them. That's what they do, they nitpick and criticise every little thing about you and hold you to blame for everything."

"Jesus..."

"And you only had ten minutes of it; Sherlock **grew up** with it."

"Yeah... still..... I dunno..."

"Hey, **my** Da isn't good enough for them and he manages the central bank!"

John blinked, "What, really?"

"Yeah, you didn't know? Anyways, that's what I wanted to show you. I wanted you to see why I put up with Sherlock's bullshit."

"Yeah," John nodded. He felt his resolve solidify even further; there was no **way** he was giving up on Sherlock now! "Yeah. Thanks. Oh, God..."

"Y'okay?"

"I - God - I once asked Sherlock if he wasn't hugged as a child. I meant it as a joke..." 

Greg nodded sympathetically, "You know, I really **wouldn't** be surprised."

**Sherlock**

_“...They’re navy blue with grey stitching, made from cotton. They’re currently drawn closed. There are two stains from when previous experiments have gotten a little too excited; one on the top left and one on the middle right. I also set the bottom left corner of the left curtain on fire when I was nine.”_

_“I am enlightened.”_

_“Happy?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Good--*” Sherlock's mouth snapped shut as his mobile was abruptly jerked from his hand and the call summarily cut. He glanced up._

_"You are **never** to talk to that insolent.. **urchin** again," his father snarled, "Do you understand me?"_

_"...Yes."_

_"Good."_

_He watched as his father effortlessly accessed the phone and deleted the hedgehog from his contact list, then tossed it back down onto Sherlock's bed. When the older man had gone, Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, then picked up his phone._

_He grabbed his coat and stomped down the stairs on his way out into the night, wondering where he would go if the youth shelter was full. Mr. Hudson was home so there was no welcome on Baker Street and he wasn't sure if Greg would tolerate him showing up at this time of night. Maybe Greg's uncle Pete..._

_He noticed the flicker of candlelight from the garden shed and wavered. Mycroft usually took their side in all things but Mycroft had been acting weird ever since January. Mycroft approved of John but would he continue to? He glanced around then slipped into the shed._

_Mycroft started guiltily, halfway through a tub of frosting. Sherlock said nothing but slid down onto the garden hosepipes with a thump. "Daddy deleted John from my mobile." Mycroft sucked down another spoonful of frosting thoughtfully. "He says I'm not allowed to talk to John anymore."_

_"Did he say why?"_

_"No."_

_"Greg was just telling me," Mycroft said, digging the spoon in, "Apparently John told off Mummy and Grandmama. He stood up for you, Greg said. He told them you were his friend and he wouldn't hear a word against you. Very rude and impertinent. They were quite surprised."_

_Sherlock snorted. After a moment, he asked, "When did this happen?"_

_"This afternoon, apparently." Another spoonful, then, "I don't agree with Daddy." Sherlock flexed a sceptical eyebrow. "I think John has been good for you. I think you've benefited from your acquaintence. We've already witnessed what happens when you have no contact with him." He stirred the spoon around in the frosting. "I have his number memorised. If you pass me your phone..."_

_"So do I. I've already put him back. Have to lose his silly icon though."_

_"That's a pity. I rather like that hedgehog."_

_"...So do I."_

 

June 21

**Sherlock**

_"I just don't understand."_

_Mrs. Hudson glanced up from her jigsaw puzzle. Mr. Hudson was at work in his London office so Sherlock had dropped by under the pretense of bringing scones. "What don't you understand, dear?"_

_"Why doesn't it **bother** him?" Sherlock asked plaintively, "Everyone else thinks I'm a freak and everything I do is wrong and they think the things that interest me are creepy and it freaks them out but it doesn't freak **him** out! He said he could listen to me talk about it for hours! He acts like he's fine with it and I don't understand **why**!" Abruptly he was up and pacing in ellipses, shaking his hands and occasionally tugging his hair. "Even you! You've taken to calling me terms of endearment and you say that I'm kind and you say I'm nice but I'm not **nice** , it doesn't work and I gave up trying to be nice but you say that I'm nice and so does John and I just don't understand!"_

_Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea thoughtfully. Then she picked up a jigsaw puzzle piece. "Here's an odd piece," she said and laid it on the section she was building, "It doesn't fit here. It's an edge piece so it's not going to fit just anywhere. It looks like it should belong here but it doesn't. It needs to find the pieces that it fits with."_

_"The pieces with which it fits," Sherlock corrected automatically._

_Mrs. Hudson just dimpled at him. "Let's try... over here. There - see? It fits here just fine. It doesn't need to change anything, it just needed to find the pieces where it belongs." Sherlock said nothing. "Do you know why I go around the yard sales and the flea markets?"_

_"No. I can't see the attraction. It's just junk and cast-offs."_

_"Mostly true," she said, "But sometimes I find something unusual. I like collecting unusual things. Perhaps John does too."_

_Sherlock digested that for a few moments, "So I'm to be caught in a tug of war between trinkets cabinets?"_

_She giggled, "Oh I'm sure we can share you." She reached out to take his hand and squeezed it lightly, "Flawed diamonds are still diamonds, Sherlock. Some of us treasure the flawed ones even more."_

~

_He was getting ready to leave; Mr. Hudson would be home within the hour as the evening rush-hour drew near. He had just thrown on his coat and kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek when his mobile chimed with a text. He read it.. then let out a loud whoop and bounced up in the air then twirled around, **"YES!!!!"**_

_Mrs. Hudson smiled, "What is it, dear?"_

_"Detective Inspector Entwistle, she's got a triple homicide out in the country she wants me to take a look at, she says it has a lot of features that can trip people up, it's a perfect training opportunity, she's taking a couple of trainees tomorrow morning and she wants me to join them, she's picking me up tomorrow at five, **YES!!** " He seized her about the waist, scooped her up and spun her bodily around._

_"Sherlock!" she laughed and pushed her hair out of her face when he set her down again. "Look at you, all happy... It's not decent!" He flinched and stared at her... then realised that she was teasing him and grinned. "Of course you're happy, what a perfect opportunity to hone your skills," she smiled, "That detective clearly values you. Do your best tomorrow."_

_He leaned to kiss her cheek again, "I will, Mrs. Hudson."_

 

June 22

**Sherlock**

_"You know that giggling at a crime scene looks very suspicious, right?"_

_He turned to see DI Entwistle smiling behind him and he grinned, "My friend thinks we should interrogate the goose."_

_"Hmm. It **has** been acting suspiciously," she agreed, "But the wounds aren't consistent with a goose bill."_

_"It could be a very clever goose and held the knife in its bill."_

_"But the angle of delivery?"_

_"It's a goose, it has wings - maybe it hovered?"_

_"That's hummingbirds."_

_"Maybe it stood on something?"_

_They laughed then the Inspector tipped her head, "So? What are your thoughts?"_

_"74% certain it was the widow."_

_"You'd be 74% closer than just about any of the trainees, then," she approved, "But 26% off."_

_"I'm still missing something."_

_"Yup!"_

_"Damn!" Sherlock beamed, "This one's **good!** "_

_"Yup! Most of the trainees are still going with the obvious, that the husband attacked the wife and children before killing himself. You and TDC Gregson over there are the first to figure out the husband was a victim. You're close, but neither of you have identified the real killer yet. Have another look."_

_Sherlock skipped off, ignoring the whispers of the trainees and the other detectives._

_"Are you sure about that bloke?" he heard Detective Inspector Thomson whisper, "He isn't even a trainee and he seems a little too eager."_

_"That's Eliza's great-nephew, is he?" Detective Inspector Thompson whispered, "I remember that kid, creepiest child I ever saw. Telling Sergeant Entwistle about the shooter who killed his aunt, just as calm as you please, standing in a puddle of her blood."_

_"...You're kidding me."_

_"Any other kid would have been screaming in trauma but that kid was just as calm as a zen monk and describing the shooter down to the finest detail."_

_"He's Eliza's boy alright," Entwistle murmured, "Got the same head for solving crimes as she did. Yes, I'm sure about him. That boy's got talent and a cool head in a crisis. We caught Eliza's murderer because that child knew to do what most adults never learn."_

_"But he's not even a recruit, is what I'm saying."_

_"Thomson, at the end of the day, it's more important to me that we solve crimes and solve them correctly. The sooner we close the book on a case, the sooner the families can have closure. This kid is the most observant person I've ever met, he's even better than Eliza was, and he's got more passion for the job than all of these trainees combined. Now you tell me that's not valuable."_

_"They're talking about you," Trainee Detective Constable Gregson murmured._

_"People always do," Sherlock shrugged._

_"Sounds like Entie's got a hard-on for you."_

_Sherlock shrugged again, "She knew my aunt."_

_"TDC Anderson says you're like a psychopath. You get off on dead bodies."_

_"TDC Anderson still thinks the husband did it. Inspector Entwistle says you and I are the only ones who're on the right track."_

_"So it's the wife?"_

_"She says it's not the wife."_

_Gregson pursed his lips, "If it's not the wife and it's not the husband then it has to be one of the kids."_

_"The goose! Maybe it stood on something!" Sherlock said suddenly, eyes widening, "Angle of delivery! Let's check those photos again. Gregson, check the prints from the pouffe again!"_

_Gregson looked back at the leather pouffe then his eyes widened, "We didn't match for **toe prints!** "_

_"Got something?" Detective Entwistle smiled as she approached._

_"The daughter?"_  
"Was it the daughter?"  
"It was the daughter, wasn't it?!" 

_"High five, boys," she grinned._

_"THE DAUGHTER!!" they chorussed and Gregson punched the air._

_"She must have stood on the leather pouffe to make her height match that of the husband."_

_"And she stabbed herself to deflect suspicion but she misjudged and bled out."_

_"And she misjudged the wife and the wife survived."_

_"For now," Entwistle amended, "Toxicology is still working but I expect the report will confirm the speculations. Good job, boys. Keep it to yourselves, I want to see if anyone else will figure it out."_

_"I doubt it; they're all idiots," Sherlock muttered, "They should just cut the entire class down and keep you, it'd save a waste of time and money." Gregson stared at him then shook his head and stalked off. "Tch. People don't recognise a compliment when they hear one."_

 

June 23

**Sherlock**

_It had fast become a habit to check on 221 Baker Street. Every day, he found some time to walk past, watching for the candle in the window and listening for voices. He was surprised by how quickly Mrs. Hudson had grown on him. She actually seemed to like him._

_He turned the corner and halted. He watched Henry Hudson leave 221, slamming the door behind him and slipping a mobile into his pocket. And he started to shake, when he saw that Mr. Hudson's knuckles were swollen, already bruising, and split in places._

_And when Mr. Hudson swept past him, arm raised to hail a cab, Sherlock noticed the flecks of blood that he'd missed when he'd washed his hands._

_He held back, hyperventilating, until the cab had disappeared down the street. Then he turned and sprinted towards 221 Baker Street._

_"Mrs. Hudson? **MRS. HUDSON!** "_


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is **also** why I like you better.

June 23

**Sherlock**

_"Mrs. Hudson? **MRS. HUDSON!** " Sherlock pulled out the key Mrs. Hudson had given him and wrenched open the door of 221 Baker Street then bolted to the 221a flat. "... **Mrs. Hudson!** "_

_The door of the 221b flat opened and the tenant popped her head out, "Is everything alright? I've called for the police, the racket was just frightful this time..."_

_"Call for an ambulance," Sherlock barked, "She's hurt, badly."_

_"Oh my God..!"_

_The tenant disappeared and Sherlock was left to inspect the body lying in a broken heap on the kitchen floor. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson..." he knelt beside her. She was moaning weakly and trying to move. "Just lie still, Mrs. Hudson."_

_She was bleeding and he was sure she must have some sort of internal injuries. Thank heavens the college had run the first-responder course the week before they kicked him out! He maneuvered her into the recovery position and was now trying to remember how to stem the bleeding._

_Mrs. Hudson was shuddering. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm here, please stay still," he said softly. He prayed it wasn't a seizure, knowing he was rapidly reaching the end of what he knew, here._

_Mrs. Hudson shuddered and retched. Sherlock tried to calm her then realised she was deliberately trying to throw up. "Mrs. Hudson..." She shivered and coughed. Water gushed from her mouth as she expelled two paracetemol._

_And a SIM card._

_"Ohhhhhhhhhh, Mrs. Hudson...!" Sherlock breathed admiringly, "You are a brilliant, brilliant woman." He fished the card out of the mess and wiped it dry with a piece of kitchen roll then put it into his pocket._

_"Oh dear," her voice was weak but she gazed up at him apologetically, ".... there were supposed to be two of them..." She sagged to the floor and her eyes fell closed._

_Sherlock threaded his fingers into hers, unable to do anything now but wait for the ambulance. "Don't go," he heard a tiny voice whisper. With a start, he realised it was his own._

_Mrs. Hudson's fingers tightened lightly around his and her eyes slit open just a fraction. "Silly boy," she managed, "And let him think he's won?" Abruptly she passed out._

_The sirens closed in._

~

_Sherlock had only left the hospital while Mrs. Hudson was in the operating theatre, to take the SIM card to DI Entwistle, but he had returned immediately. Mrs. Hudson lay in a darkened room, pale and unmoving. Sherlock sat next to her, watching the pallid form, listening to the beeps of the medical monitors._

_It was mid morning. He hadn't eaten but he didn't feel hungry. He hadn't slept and he felt too keyed up. He went outside to check his text messages. He smiled when he saw the number, not quite ten minutes ago._

_John was texting him pictures of macaroons. With moustaches. Sherlock shook his head, unable to keep from grinning. There was absolutely no sense to it, absolutely no reason why he should find it as amusing as he did. He put it down to having gone without sleep for over twenty-four hours._

_Which was no doubt why he burst out laughing over John's next image. Macaroon murder! Oh good lord, where does he come up with these ideas?? He laughed even harder at the next image. Who goes to the trouble of making a tiny paper plate to set up macaroon cannibalism? John Watson, obviously. Crazy hedgehog. He shook his head again, not wanting to admit that he'd needed the laugh, but the knot of tension had certainly eased up a little._

_A nurse came out of the hospital and lightly touched his sleeve, "Hey.. Sherlock, is it?" He nodded. "Your mum is awake now."_

_Sherlock wasn't sure where they'd gotten the idea that Mrs. Hudson was his mother but he wasn't about to disabuse them of the notion in case they stopped letting him see her._

 

June 24

**John**

He couldn't believe how smoothly it had gone. It had taken a lot of eleventh-hour cramming, turning all of his highlighted textbook notes into bizarre constructs and wandering the halls of scenes built in his imagination. It had taken a lot of effort, but it appeared to have paid off.

"John!"

He turned and grinned, "Hey, Molly!"

"How'd you do?"

"I can't believe it! **I actually passed!** "

"I knew you could do it!"

"To be honest, I was beginning to doubt. How about you, how'd you do?"

"Better than ever!"

"That's great!" They shared a high-five.

"So what's up now?" Molly asked him, "Got any plans for your holidays?"

"Off to work, sadly," John sighed, "No college means more hours at work. On the plus side, more money." 

'On the down side, more money for Da to piss away on beer,' he thought. He tried to brush the thought aside, to quell his resentment and concentrate on the satisfaction of passing college. 

 

June 25

**Sherlock**

_It had been a long and restless night. He'd spent the day with Mrs. Hudson at the hospital, hardly leaving her side. She'd seemed highly amused at the staff's continued belief that he was her son, but she didn't correct them either. "If I did that, I'd be here alone," she'd said, dimpling the fading bruises on her cheeks. Eventually, though, she'd insisted that he go home and get some sleep. He took her spare key, so that her flat wouldn't look deserted. (Not wanting to go home to his parents had **nothing to do with it.** )_

_His mobile chimed, waking him. He rolled over on the couch and tried to ignore it as it chimed again. Realising it might be Detective Entwistle, he picked it up and smiled blearily when he saw the cannibal macaroon icon that he'd chosen to replace the hedgehog sandwich. And his eyebrow shot up - **'Sunshine'??** John was calling him **'sunshine'**? He texted back, wincing as his phone added an extra 'the' and he'd pressed send before catching it. The next couple of responses had him shaking his head and grinning -- trust John to make it into a joke and run with it. 'I wish he'd share whatever drugs he's taking to come up with these ludicrous ideas, they're clearly superior to cocaine,' he thought. Then he smacked his head into the couch pillow as John started spamming him with pictures of what were quite obviously crepes which he insisted on calling pancakes. _

_His giggles trailed off when John once again derailed him with his uncanny wisdom. "In a way, I'm showing you myself. You are what you eat, right?" Not the way Sherlock would have thought of it and yet completely true. Once again, John managed to send his thoughts in new directions._

_John just never ceased to amaze him._

_Or amuse him._

 

June 26

**Sherlock**

_Each police interview set Mrs. Hudson back and there were a lot of them. Sherlock stayed by her side, hiding his growing admiration for the woman. Despite her exhaustion, her pain, and her growing horror as the magnitude of her husband's activities gradually unfolded, she soldiered on, answering every question to the best of her ability._

_They were halfway through another interview when Sherlock's mobile started to chime. He checked his text messages and shook his head -- John, wishing to continue the ridiculous pancakes/crepes argument. He started to put it away, then changed his mind. Mrs. Hudson was exhausted, her spirits needed lifting and she seemed to appreciate John's interest and sense of humour. He texted back then showed the screen to Mrs. Hudson when she made a noise of inquiry. It worked, at least enough to get her through._

**John**

"Hey John! How's your 'friend?'"

John's day had gotten off to such a great start, not even Sally Donovan could bring him down. "You mean the friend who gave me a USB stick full of studying techniques?"

"Uh, what?"

"The friend who helped me pass college?"

"Um..."

"The friend who's probably had the most impact on me in less than a year than anyone else I've ever met? That friend?"

"Uh... yeah."

"He's doing great. Currently he's on the trail of the cannibal macaroon murderer!"

"..."

"He'll be on the trail of the Pink Panther, next!"

"What are you on about?"

"My ambition is to be Cato to his Clouseau. I have already begun my diligent training by baiting him at random moments."

"You're fucking mental!" Sally blurted, "You're as much a freak as he is! You two deserve each other!"

"I shall take that as a compliment."

 

**Sherlock**

_Mrs. Hudson was asleep when Detective Inspector Entwistle came to her room again. The Inspector beckoned Sherlock out for a few quiet words in the hallway. He closed his eyes and nodded. He didn't like having to wake Mrs. Hudson yet again but knew it had to be done. He went back in and lightly touched her shoulder, "Mrs. Hudson?"_

_Her eyelids flickered open, "...hm? Oh... Sherlock..."_

_"They found him, Mrs. Hudson," he told her gently, "They picked him up in Miami. He's in custody."_

_Mrs. Hudson smiled softly, then followed his eyes when he turned to look behind. "Inspector..?"_

_"I'm sorry to do this to you, Mrs. Hudson," the detective said gently as she stepped forward, carrying a tablet computer. "We need to know if you recognise any of the people in these images. They were recovered from the SIM cards you acquired."_

_Mrs. Hudson threaded her fingers into Sherlock's and struggled to sit up. He helped her raise herself. "Alright. Yes," she said softly._

_"I have to warn you -- some of the images are graphic."_

_She only looked more determined and nodded. "Show me."_

_Throughout the gruelling ordeal, despite the tears that rolled down her cheeks, she never lost her composure but answered each question just as calmly as she had answered all the others. Sherlock could only admire her, one of England's true 'iron ladies.'_

_"The evidence is enough to build a solid case," the Inspector said finally, "And with the additional evidence Sherlock has provided, I believe we can prove that you had no knowledge of nor involvement with any of the crimes." Mrs. Hudson squeezed Sherlock's hand. Entwistle hesitated a moment then added, "I don't think your husband will be coming home ever again."_

_Mrs. Hudson smiled and closed her eyes, and the detective inspector took her leave. Then her smile faded and she opened her eyes again. "I'll have to raise the rents," she sighed worriedly, "It'll be so hard without Henry's income." She squeezed his hand again then tucked her cheek into the pillow._

_Sherlock watched her sleep and promised himself that someday, somehow, even if it meant taking the C flat, he would take up residence in 221 Baker Street and help Mrs. Hudson._

 

June 27

**Mycroft**

_Mycroft actually startled when the phone picked up. "Where have you been?" he snapped, recovering._

_Sherlock huffed, "Out."_

_"Obviously. Where? Mummy is considering phoning the police again."_

_He could almost hear the eye-roll. "I'm fine," Sherlock replied, "I'm looking after Mrs. Hudson."_

_"Yes, who **is** Mrs. Hudson?"_

_"I'll come back tomorrow if it shuts everyone up."_

_And that was that. Sherlock hung up and Mycroft knew he wouldn't get any more answers out of him. So he turned his attention to the government databases at work. His new security clearance allowed him a fair bit of access, though not as much as he'd like, and without a first name or a definite address, he didn't have much to go on._

_But he did have Sherlock's interest in crimes. After cross-referencing with the Met's databases, it didn't take him long to find a likely suspect. The woman didn't appear to be a dealer of any sort, nor the type to prey on moneyed young men. Rather, she was married, with a history of domestic violence complaints lodged by tenants. He sat back as he read -- husband recently taken into American custody as a suspected serial killer, while the woman herself was recovering from a severe beating and had just been released from hospital. Well, there was the connection to Sherlock, though it didn't explain why he had stayed away all week.. other than that it was an excuse to stay away from home, yes alright._

_He had no idea what to make of this. Like himself, Sherlock tended not to form attachments to people, yet now he appeared to have two._

 

June 28

**John**

'I've changed,' he thought as he watched the crowd. He'd spotted his old mates immediately and it was plain they'd been imbibing before they'd arrived. A few had come over to say hi but word had gotten around that John had enlisted and it was like they were afraid to talk to him now. 

Now he watched them gyrating clumsily on the dance floor. Even when he'd hung out with them, he didn't really have much in common with them. He wondered if he should take a video of this and took out his phone. 

'I wonder if I remembered to thank you,' he thought. He shrugged and thumbed the otter icon. 'No time like the present.'

The ensuing conversation had him chuckling. Sherlock.... really just didn't know how to accept a compliment, did he? But after meeting Sherlock's mother and grandmother, John could well believe that he didn't get them often enough to learn.

"Hey John! Way to burn up the dance floor!"

John chuckled, wiping the sweat off his brow and putting his jacket back on. "Heh, thanks Ron."

"'An't seen you pull a pin' all ni'" Ron said, which John translated as 'Haven't seen you pull a pint all night.' "C'mon, we're goin' onna pub craw'"

John resisted the urge to wave his hand to diffuse Ron's alcohol-fumed breath. "Nice of you to offer, Ron, but I've a shift tomorrow."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"No, really, but hoist one for me, right?"

"When'd y' become such 'boring lil' fuck?"

'When I started building crime scenes out of macaroons,' John thought but didn't say. Instead he said, "It's called life, Ron. Off you go, have your fun and don't pick on your des this time, alright? You've got a des, right?"

"Aw piss off."

"Ron? You **do** have a Designated Driver, right?"

"Yeah yeah sure."

A red flag waved at the back of John's brain. He remembered Ron well. "Who's your des, Ron?"

"'E's.... ov' there..." Ron waved vaguely. Another bloke waved back and Ron took the excuse to weave a hasty retreat from John and his boring sense of boring responsibility. 

'Yeah,' John thought. He'd had that argument with Ron and the others many times, about the need for a des. Ron hadn't changed at all. He watched them go, thinking back to his text conversation with Sherlock. 'And this is **also** why I like you better.'

 

June 29

**Greg**

Greg leaned against the tree, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched and shuddering.

"And it didn't end there," John said.

"Oh my god..!"

"This morning I get a text from him saying, 'Would jacking off with calamine cream be good for the nettle stings on my dick?'"

"Oh my god..!!!" Greg felt tears starting to roll down his sore cheeks, "How did.... How did he get...?"

"I don't want to think about it but I have an idea. They couldn't pick up any girls last night so they bought one."

Greg gaped, "You mean.. they hired a..."

"Not that kind of girlfriend, no. The inflatable kind, apparently."

**"Oh my god..!!!!"** Greg was laughing so hard he feared he might throw up. 

" **And** they're doing it again tonight. Another pub crawl, I mean. The other thing, I doubt it," John chuckled, "The whole thing left me thanking God for Sherlock, for rescuing my brain before it was too late. Although I might start hanging out with them again, just for the Schadenfreude."

"Oh my god..!!" Greg wheezed.

"Although I suppose I do owe them a debt of gratitude," John mused, "They nicked my mobile while I was in the toilet and texted Sherlock the second time. If they hadn't done that, I probably wouldn't have texted him again."

"Thank God for drunken louts, then," Greg grinned. "Rocky, up! ...no don't do that, oh god Rocky... C'mon boy!" Greg shook his head as they resumed walking, "So how is Sherlock anyways, have you heard from him? He up and disappeared for a week again."

John frowned, "He did? I had no idea, he seldom tells me where he is. Yes, he's texted me several times this week, he seemed fine. Doesn't that worry his family, though?"

"Mycroft seemed worried for a bit and then he wasn't, so I don't know what went on there. I know he showed up again yesterday."

"Well, wherever he's going, it's around Baker Street," John said, "Molly told me at the dance last night, she's seen him walk past Speedy's a couple of times this week, but he doesn't come in."

"Huh! I wonder what's.." Greg's pocket chimed and he took out his mobile, "Oh my God..!!!!"

"What? What? What is it?"

Greg read off, "'What is 'Hips don't lie' and why would I be pleased by it? I'm assuming it's a programme of some kind.'"

They looked at each other, then fell about crying with laughter.

"Oh God... I shouldn't laugh so hard, I'm making myself sick."

John patted his shoulder, "Thanks for walking me to work, though."

"No problem. It's a change of scenery for Rocky. Have a good day at work."

"Cheers, mate."

But when he got home, the laughter had long stopped and left just the sick.

 

June 30

**Greg**

"Daaaaad? C'n y' take R'cky f'r 'is walk th's m'rning? 'm not done ch'cking yet."


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I think maybe I spent too long cuddling the hedgehogs."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nb, it might not be obvious because of Greg's underline format, but there's a link to The Rimmer Experience in Greg's speech.

June 30

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock was awake but still lazing around in bed when his phone rang at nine in the morning. He thumbed it open, fully expecting it to be John. "You call me 'Sunshine' again and I'm throwing my mobile into the laundry bin," he drawled lazily._

_He was answered by the sound of someone sobbing. "Hello?" he frowned and glanced at the phone. "Greg? Is that you? Where are you?"_

_"I'm at the.. h-hospital.."_

_Sherlock threw the sheets off and sat up, "What's happened?"_

_It was several moments before Greg managed to choke out, "My Dad... he's..." Sherlock waited out the next surge of sobbing. "My dad just died."_

_"How?" He waited patiently, piecing together the story of how Greg's father was struck by an early morning reckless driver while walking the dog. "Where did this take place?" he said, opening his laptop. "I'll do what I can," he promised._

_He dressed quickly and flew down the stairs, grabbing his coat as he passed the kitchen._

_**"Sherlock Holmes, where do you think you're going?"** _

_Sherlock turned to face his mother and snapped, "Greg Lestrade's father has been killed by a reckless driver and I'm going out to investigate."_

_"You most certainly are not!" his father rose from the breakfast table, "This is not a game, Sherlock! That is a matter for the police to handle, not for you to go poking your nose where it isn't wanted and contaminating the evidence."_

_"I don't contaminate it and it **is** wanted!"_

_"By whom?"_

_"By Greg, for one!"_

_"Hardly sufficient."_

_"Sherlock, sit down and eat your breakfast. Let the police handle it, that's what they're there for," his mother sniffed, irritated._

_"If I let the police handle it, it'll never get done."_

_"And you think you're better qualified, do you?" Mother sneered._

_"Obviously."_

_Father rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, you would not even qualify for the force."_

_"No thanks to you," he snapped back, watching his father's eyes narrow and his face turn red with rage._

_"Sherlock Holmes, you are not leaving this house."_

_"Oh yes I am," Sherlock retorted, " **I** don't have a fancy ankle bracelet!"_

**Mycroft**

_ Mycroft watched silently as the screaming started, not pausing in eating his yogurt muesli. More and more, he was seeing what Greg had meant, now.  _

_ Greg's father had died? Greg's father was a major player in the central bank; there would be repercussions. He should notify his superior immediately, he thought. And then there was Greg. Oh dear. People complained that Sherlock was incompetant when it came to handling emotional scenarios but the truth was Mycroft really wasn't much better at it. And this would be one of those raw-emotion types, the worst of all.  _

_ When the screaming ended and Sherlock was banished to his room, Mycroft quietly finished his muesli and tea, then went upstairs. Sherlock was pacing in ellipses and yanking fistfuls of his hair in his frustration - justified, Mycroft felt this time. He glared daggers at Mycroft. Mycroft sighed inwardly -- He was barely capable of handling **Sherlock's** raw emotions, let alone anybody else's. What comfort could he possibly be to Greg when he could barely handle his own little brother? "What exactly were you planning to do?" he asked mildly. _

_ "Examine the scene, look for evidence, look for witnesses to talk to," Sherlock snapped out, still pacing. He blew out a frustrated noise, "If the world were **just** , if I had access to the CCTV, maybe I could pull up the images and clarify them, maybe even trace the driver's movements." _

_ "And then?" _

_ "Give it to the police, obviously." _

_ Who would then make the arrest and be able to make the charges stick. And then Greg's family could breathe at ease, knowing that their father's killer was behind bars, Mycroft thought, suddenly understanding. Sherlock was even worse at being comforting than Mycroft was, but he did understand closure. It was the only comfort he could give to a friend who'd supported him for a while now, and their parents weren't letting him give it. _

_ "Do you know when and where this took place?" Mycroft inquired mildly, bringing out his mobile. He tapped the location in and pursed his lips, "Perhaps I can call in a few favours." _

**Sherlock**

_Sherlock sat curled up on his chair, knees to his chest and brooding. He hadn't meant to snap at John but he was frustrated to the end of his rope. Inspector Entwistle had said it wasn't her case but she would see if she could pull a few strings. Mycroft had promised to sneak him out through his window as soon as he had the camera footage. His parents were still arguing. He was frustrated, he **knew** he could help Greg and he just couldn't **do** anything!_

_Until Mycroft poked his head into the room and said, "Paydirt!"_

_**Finally!!** _

**Mycroft**

_ It was like watching a bloodhound. As soon as Sherlock had the imagery, he hit the ground running. He ploughed into them, running them through image enhancing software to pull out identifying details.  _

_ "I'll let you in on a secret," Mycroft said as Sherlock worked, "Next year, I'll be able to do all of this myself." He smirked as Sherlock's eyebrow shot up. "They're holding a position for me in MI5. I may even get into MI6." _

_ "So that's why you're pursuing your Master's so quickly," Sherlock nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the arguing voices downstairs, "What will you tell them?" _

_ "Whatever cover story they devise for me, probably some sort of minor government official. Enough to satisfy their egos."  _

_ Sherlock smirked, "Yes, I don't even want to think about them believing you're some kind of James Bond, they'd expect you to have a weaponised umbrella and set me up to be your villain." Mycroft chuckled, the closest he ever got to bursting out laughing. "John would never shut up about it." _

_ "I wondered how you knew about James Bond. Not your usual type of entertainment." _

**John**

Bloody fucking **Sherlock!!** What a berk he was being! What the hell did he even mean by that?? Could he not spare even a moment's sensitivity? Greg was their **friend** , for Christ's sake! What the hell did that even mean, 'go to Molly?' Does he even realise how he comes across? He probably doesn't even realise it, he--

Harry's giggles cut through John's ranting. "You sound just like Mummy," she laughed, "You sound exactly like Mummy whenever she's pissed at Da. You sound like you're married."

Which is when John's mobile chimed, flashing the otter icon.

And just like that, John's world tilted on its ear.

 

July 1

**Sherlock**

_John still hadn't replied._

_Sherlock had spent the evening combing the images. Once his frustration had bled off, once he'd finally been able to **do** something, he'd texted John again but John was clearly still upset with him. So he'd kept working and kept checking his phone._

_And John still hadn't replied._

_He'd said "I've had enough of you" and he still hadn't replied. It was gone midnight and John still hadn't replied._

_Sherlock paced his room in ellipses. His hair came out in fistfuls._

_So that was it, then. That was what it took. He'd finally broken John's limit, without even trying, without even intending to, he'd finally broken John's limit. John had had enough of him and now he was gone. The silly little macaroon hedgehog had finally had enough of him and broken off all contact. And he hadn't even **meant** to drive him off! All he'd meant was that he couldn't answer John's questions. He didn't **know** the answers, that wasn't his area (clearly, as he fucked up in it regularly, it was practically a written guarantee.) He wasn't the one who could answer those kinds of questions, Molly clearly was, he'd just meant that John should ask someone better qualified, he hadn't meant to drive John off. He'd deliberately driven a lot of people away but John was... John hadn't... And he hadn't even **meant** to, he'd just.. he'd just... John was just... and he was just........... _

_** FUCK!!! ** _

_He fell to his knees. The clock ticked onwards and he curled in upon himself, his mind whirling in a hurricane of devastation and self-reproach, ripping itself apart. John still hadn't replied. John was gone. Just when he was finally starting to feel safe with him and he blew it, he'd fucked it up and driven John away and now John was gone and it was his fault. Was there **nothing** he couldn't fuck up? His parents were right, Gran was right, everyone was right. Caring was **not** an advantage, he'd become invested and look where it had gotten him, he'd fucked everything up, there was nothing he couldn't fuck up, hell he'd probably even fucked up Greg's father's case. _

_The clock ticked onward. Two a.m. and still the phone was silent. He felt around under the bed, inside the box spring, and drew out the leather case._ 'Turn off the world if it makes you hurt' -- _He didn't have much left but he had enough for this. He pulled the case open and checked - yes, just enough. Then frowned when he saw a piece of paper tucked amid the syringes._

'Some things to try instead:

\- holding an ice cube in your elbow or under your arm.  
\- put a rubber band on your wrist and snap it.  
\- a long walk  
\- a video game (name the enemy characters after the people causing you pain)  
\- a phone call (night time too)  
\- a visit (night time too)  
\- remembering that I love you, just the way you are.

\-- Mrs. Hudson'

_Sherlock stared at the note for a long time. How on **earth** had she managed that?!_

**John**

_Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like you're married.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like you're married.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like you're married.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like you're married.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like Mummy when she's mad at Da.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_ **You sound like you're married.** _Are you emotionally invested in me?_

_Are you emotionally invested in me?_

_Are you emotionally invested in me?_

"Oh god," John whispered into his palms.

**Sherlock**

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson blinked sleepily. Dawn was just streaking the sky. "What's the matter, dear? You look like you've lost your best friend!"

Sherlock felt his breath hitch in his throat. "...I think I have."

She stepped aside to let him in. He spun into a chair at her kitchen table and his head thunked into his hands. Silently, she set down a bowl of ice while the kettle heated. 

Sherlock stared at it for a moment before grabbing a piece. When the tea was ready, he took a sip but didn't look up. Water trickled from his arm while Mrs. Hudson lightly stroked his hair. "...How did you do that?" he asked finally, curiosity getting the better of him, "How did you know where to look?"

Mrs. Hudson smiled and glanced at the thin scars decorating her arm. "I just thought about where I used to hide my razor blades," she replied and hearing her talk about it so casually was a knife in Sherlock's heart. "I bought one of those little sticks that you use on your computer," she said casually, "Then I went over and said that I was returning it. I told the maid that I knew where you kept them."

Sherlock stared at her incredulously. "But... My father's under house arrest!"

"Oh yes. I told him I was tutoring you as you worked through university." She smiled as Sherlock's jaw fell open and he actually gaped at her. 

"When?! He never even mentioned it!"

"Oh, I imagine he didn't. He was with a young lady at the time whom I'm quite certain was not your mother."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "Of course he was. Did he try to pay you to keep quiet about it?"

"You know, it's just possible that he did," Mrs. Hudson chuckled wickedly. 

Sherlock had to smile. Despite her liking for soap opera shows, Mrs. Hudson was surely one of the cleverest women he'd ever met.

 

July 3

**Greg**

(Thurs 4:17pm)  
Thank you.

(Thurs 4:17pm)  
It means a lot to me that you did all that.

_(Thurs 4:20pm)  
Isn't that why you told me first, in the first place? So that I could find who did it?_

(Thurs 4:21pm)  
Yes.

(Thurs 4:23pm)  
And it still means a lot to me that you succeeded.

(Thurs 4:23pm)  
So thanks.

(Thurs 4:25pm)  
I don't know how I'll ever return the favour.

_(Thurs 4:30pm)  
You have it backwards._

_(Thurs 4:31pm)  
It was me returning favours._

_(Thurs 4:45pm)  
How is Rocky?_

(Thurs 4:50pm)  
He won't be humping your leg for a while yet.

(Thurs 4:51pm)  
It'll be at least a month before they can take the pin out of his hip.

**John**

"Is John Watson working today? JOHN!"

John came out of the break room, eyebrows raised in surprise, "Hi Molly. What's up?"

"Did you hear about Ron?"

"Ron? What, Ron Adair? Our Ron?"

Molly nodded, "The Ron you used to go drinking with, yes. He's been arrested!"

"What?!" John gaped, "What on earth for?"

"Drink driving causing fatality. It happened really early on Sunday, I remember reading about it in the paper, some guy was out walking his dog and he - John, are you alright? You've gone all grey!"

"I know the man he hit," John said faintly, "That was Ron? Ron did that? God fucking dammit, I **told** him to take a cab, I've told him a hundred times, he has to have a des or take a cab."

"The news said the police found him on CCTV and traced his route, they got a tip from the public, they said."

"A tip from..."

"But you know Ron's family is going to fight it, they always do."

"A tip from.. Oh god.. What do you want to bet?"

"John?"

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it and dialed. "Pancakes!" he barked, then cut the call, grinning. 

Molly looked puzzled, "What was that about?"

"Forgiving a wanker who's still a far better person than Ron will ever be. Anyways, you were saying..." His phone rang. He took the call, then burst out laughing and put his phone back in his pocket. "Anyways, I know you're right but God I really really hope this time they can make it stick..."

 

July 4

**Mycroft**

_ "My boy-friend's back and there's gonna be trou-ble.  
Hey laaaaa, hey laaaa, my boyfriend's back!" _

_ Mycroft kept reading the paper and affected not to notice Sherlock walking in carrying a hammer.  _

_ "When you see him comin', better cut out on the double.  
Hey laaaa, hey laaaa, my boyfriend's back!" _

_ The hammer swung down, flipping the iPod out of its cradle then smashing it until it was in fragments. Mycroft remained oblivious as Sherlock walked out again. _

_ He managed to keep a straight face until Sherlock returned and dumped a bowl of carrot sticks on his head.  _

_ "Temper, temper, little brother." _

_ "Piss off!" _

 

August 5

**John**

'How's your friend?'

It took John a second to realise that Sally had **signed** that, rather than speaking it. He grinned widely. 'He's doing great,' he signed back, 'You know he's over half-way through his first year of university?'

Sally shook her head. "Sorry, you've lost me already. I don't recognise that sign."

"'University,'" John said, repeating it. "He's over half through his first year."

"Don't you mean semester?"

"No, I mean **year** ," John grinned proudly, "He's doing it the same way he did his college. It's brilliant! So you've been paying attention then? To the BSL?"

Sally nodded, "Yeah. It seemed a good idea."

 

August 18

**Mycroft**

_ He startled guiltily as the shed door opened and relaxed as Sherlock stepped in, closing the door behind him.  _

_ "I heard what they were saying," Sherlock said. _

_ "If they ever find out..." _

_ "I know. You're supposed to be the perfect one." _

_ Mycroft cringed. They spooned frosting in silence for several minutes. "How's John?" _

_ "He's an insolent child and I've had three husbands." _

_ Mycroft froze with the spoon in his mouth and **stared** at Sherlock. Then they both broke up laughing. _

 

August 25

**John**

It was possibly the best goodbye party John had ever been thrown. Peggy Burke and her friends were there and the staff were signing nearly as well as they were, to John's delight. He was even more delighted when she was announced as John's replacement and the manager proudly unveiled the sign announcing "BSL Spoken Here."

"I hate to say it," Sally said afterwards, "But... I'm kind of going to miss you."

Well, there went John's plans to fulfill all his fantasies about dumping lattes on Sally's head. Instead he said, "..Really?"

"Yeah."

John thought about for a moment. Then a grin spread across his face, only slightly evil. "Actually, would you do me a favour...?"

 

August 26

**Greg**

"What?"

"What what?"

"Your face went all weird there for a second."

"No it didn't."

"Yes it did. What did John say?"

"......... 'The John Watson Experience.'"

Greg chuckled, the closest he could come to laughing these days. "Is that like 'The Rimmer Experience?'"

"The what?"

"[The Rimmer Experience](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-ZiI3iVgpM)," Greg said and reached for his laptop, "Here, I'll show you." 

He grinned as identical expressions of increasingly baffled horror spread across both of the Holmes brothers' faces. 

"Actually," Sherlock said at last, shaking his head, as Mycroft and Greg both grinned widely, "Yes, I think that's exactly what it's like."

 

August 31

**John**

"Johnny?"

John looked up, squinting at the face barely illuminated by the LED candle, "Oh, hi Harry."

She climbed a step further into the treehouse, "What are you doing out here, at this hour?"

"Just thinking."

"Whatcha thinking about?" she pulled herself the rest of the way in and sat with her legs dangling down the floor hatch. 

"Just... things."

She gave him a shrewd look. "What kind of things."

John shook his head, "Just things. You wouldn't underst..... no, shit, you **would** understand, hell you probably went through this yourself.. shit. I'm sorry, Harry. Of all the people I know, you're probably the only one who **would** understand."

"Sherlock?"

John winced and nodded, "Yeah. Sorry, Harry."

She flipped her legs up to close the hatch and sat crosslegged. "You in love with him, then?"

John winced again and sat up. "I... I don't know, I... I think maybe I might be? I don't know. I've been thinking about my old mates but I can't say I've ever felt anything towards them, you know what I mean? Like, attractionwise?"

She nodded. "So he's hot, then?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Doesn't Greg have pictures?"

"Yes but I won't let him show me."

"Whyever not?"

"Because Sherlock doesn't want me to and I want to respect that. I mean, yes, I'm dying to know what he looks like, Molly says he's really fit, but I don't want to violate his privacy, you know?"

Harry thought about that. "So you don't know what he looks like but you feel attracted to him?"

"I feel **something** for him," John sighed, "I know we only text and talk on the phone but Greg says I'm getting the genuine article, warts and all, but the thing is, I really, really like what I'm getting."

"Even though he's a bit of a berk?"

"He's a wonderful berk. I know other people don't think so but for me, the wonderful bits outweigh all the berky bits." He scrubbed his hands down his face with a sigh, "I can't... If you asked me if I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him, I'd say yes, no question."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "The rest of your life just texting and phone calls?"

"Yes, if that's what it took," John replied promptly, "And you know I've never been much of a believer in the church but... I can't stop thanking God that I dialed the wrong number that day."

Harry drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them. "So, you've never even seen him... so you just love **him.** "

John nodded sadly. "That's about the size of it. And I've never felt this way about another man. ...Or anyone, really. Nobody else. Just Sherlock."

Harry nodded thoughtfully then stretched and sat down on the lilo next to him. She fixed him with a serious look at said, "Johnny, are you queer?"

"I don't know," John said, "I've been asking myself that but.." Then he got it and groaned - maybe Sherlock didn't get his 80s songs fixation but his sister sure did. "Oh, you tosser!" he laughed and whapped her with a pillow.

"Haha! Gotcha, Johnny!" Harry grabbed another pillow and struck back. They kept whapping each other until they collapsed on the lilo, breathless and giggling. 

"I really don't know what this makes me. Am I gay? But I don't find other blokes attractive and I do find girls attractive.. or at least, I did... so what's that then, bi? Or what's the other word, homoromantic?" 

Harry laughed then sat up and looked at him fondly, "Maybe bi, but... forget the labels, Johnny. Make it easy on yourself. He's Sherlock. You're not in love with him because he's a bloke, you're in love with him because he's Sherlock. It's just the person you love happens to be wearing a dick."

John laughed, feeling an enormous weight lifting from his heart. "Thanks, Harry. I think I know what I have to do, now."

**Sherlock**

_He stooped over the painting, examining it minutely. The thieves were skilled and left no fingerprints but they had left other traces. A challenge but not impossible to sort out. He switched his magnfiying glass to his other hand and shifted his body, putting the light at a new angle. His mobile began to ring and he straightened up, reaching into his pocket to pull it out. He unlocked it and answered, then frowned as it continued to ring._

_He opened his eyes, blinking as the dream dissolved but left the ringing mobile. He fumbled for it and flicked it open, expecting it must be Detective Inspector Entwistle or Inspector Dimmock - someone from the Yard - and forced his voice into an alert, "Hello?"_

_"Let's have dinner."_

_Sherlock blinked in sleepy confusion before finally recognising the voice, “…John--?”_

_“I really, really mean it. Don’t call me silly, or assume I’m kidding or something. Let’s go out. “_

_He looked at the clock. “It’s four in the morning, what the hell…”_

_“I didn’t mean right now.”_

_“You want to have this conversation now? At four o’ clock? Believe it or not, I do actually sleep.”_

_“What conversation? I thought this was just a yes or no deal. Me… asking you on a… date.”_

_“A date?” What he heard could not be what John had said, surely? Sherlock groaned, "I can't take you seriously!"_

_That touched off a storm of protests and argument that brought Sherlock fully awake and blinking. What the hell was John saying?? "John, do you.. Do you even like.."_

_"Guys?"_

_....I was going to say 'me', but that'll do too, Sherlock thought, in shock. Then they stumbled and stilted their way through a bizarre discussion of John's sexual identity until John said something that made Sherlock's heart stutter. "It's just.. you. I love--"_

_"No..."_

_"...You."_

_His thoughts screamed, whirling like a hurricane. "But... the.. snarky and annoying bits..."_

_"That come with you," John finished, "Yeah... Even those, too."_

_His mind slammed to a stop._

_John said other things but they passed through his ears unheard. His mind was a blank, unable to process anything but the impossible thing John had said._

_He knew it was impossible. He'd been told, all his life he'd been told. By his cousins, by his grandparents, by his classmates, his parents, his brother -- everyone, all his life, had told him. He was too strange, too contrary, too silent, too weird, too tall, too ugly with his skinny body, large hands and feet, narrow eyes, weak chin, sharp cheekbones and unruly hair. He was unlovable, he knew it, his own **parents** couldn't love him. He'd been told, over and over again, no one would ever want him._

_John just said he did._

_John just said he loved him. Snarky bits and all._

_John just said he wanted to date him._

_For real._

_"....Okay," he heard his mouth whisper and his voice sounded wobbly and confused. He didn't even know if **he** was gay! It wasn't something he'd bothered about, considering he would never actually **need** to, since no one would ever want him in the first place..._

_Until now._

_Then John said "Jesus, are you really not going to say it too?" and Sherlock's mind screamed back into whirling again. It didn't stop screaming after John hung up._

_There was no way he could sleep now. He got up and grabbed his coat, then went out into the quiet of pre-dawn London. Only the streets were quiet; Sherlock's mind screamed still. He walked around until dawn painted the sky, before hammering on Mrs. Hudson's door. After a few minutes, it opened onto her bleary but welcoming face. "He said he loves me!" he blurted._

_Her eyes flew open and she cupped her hand to her mouth, "Oh my goodness! You'd better come in, I'll put the kettle on."_

_"He said he loves me!" Sherlock hadn't even taken off his coat before he launched into frantic elliptical pacing, "He rang me up at four o'clock this morning and told me he loves me!"_

_"Ah?"_

_"A month ago he'd had enough of me and now he says he loves me, how is that even possible?!"_

_"So he's been in love for a while now," she nodded, "It's become his state of being."_

_Sherlock's head snapped around, "What??"_

_"Sometimes words that describe emotions are also used to describe states of being," Mrs. Hudson explained gently, "Like..." She thought for a moment, "You're currently distraught, but you're here because you feel safe. Does that make sense?" Sherlock stared at her then thunked down into a chair. "That's how John can be angry with you but still love you. His anger has passed but his love hasn't because it's his state of being."_

_Sherlock tried to think about that but his mind kept whirling, his breath coming in short, panicked pants. "I said 'okay' but I don't even know what I meant by it, if I was okay or agreeing to dating or having dinner or dick-sucking, I just don't know!!"_

_Mrs. Hudson's hand fluttered briefly to her forehead - a little too much information there, perhaps. "Is that what's distressing you? That John is a boy?"_

_He shook his head, "He expected me to say it back!"_

_"Ah. And, you don't feel the same way?"_

_" **I don't know!** " Sherlock howled, spiralling up again, "I don't know how I feel about him! This isn't my area, I'm no good with feelings! I don't even... oh, this is pathetic..."_

_"Sherlock..."_

_"I don't know what love **is!** "_

_Silence fell._

_"No, I don't suppose you would." Sherlock turned to look at Mrs. Hudson. "You haven't really had any good examples, have you? With your family..."_

_Sherlock sat down again, regarding her suspiciously. "...You don't think I'm 'being silly?'" The quotes were all too obvious in his voice._

_"No, not at all. Neither did I. That's why I..." she trailed off but he understood. "I'm not exactly a good role model, either."_

_"You said you love me, in your note," Sherlock said hesitantly._

_"Yes. Not the same way that John probably does, of course. You're more like the son I wished I could have had." She smiled warmly at him and set a cup of tea in front of him, "Yes, I love you, Sherlock Holmes."_

_He stared at her for several moments then looked away. Then looked back, "How do you know?"_

_"How do I know I love you? That what I feel towards you is a kind of love?"_

_Sherlock nodded, "How can I tell him if I love him if I don't know?"_

_Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea, deep in thought. "It's a serious question, for people who didn't have good examples," she said, "I've wondered about it for years, because of Henry." At his quizzical look, she explained, "I wondered how he could say that he loved me while kicking my ribs."_

_He winced and looked away. "If I don't know what love **is** , at least I can say what love **isn't** ," he grumbled. _

_Mrs. Hudson chuckled, "Very good, that's a good start." She sighed, "In our culture, the word 'love' is used to describe so many different emotions and they all have so many layers of complexity, but... A few years ago, my yoga teacher said something that, I think, is the best definition of love, at its simplest. She said that to love is to be happy with." Sherlock stared at her. She reached out and took his hand, "I know that I love you because I feel happy whenever you come around. My mood lifts and it brightens my day." She sighed ruefully and sipped her tea again, "And if I'd lived my life by that simple definition, it might have gone quite differently." He still looked so lost. She patted his hand again, "Do you know when you feel happy?"_

_He started to shake his head, then his expression turned strange as he tried to parse it out, then shrugged. "I know when I feel good?" he offered._

_"What makes you feel good, then?"_

_"Being here. Having experiments to work on. Having a case to solve..." he broke off and looked lost for a moment. "....when John texts me. ........ even when he frustrates me...."_

_"And if he would text you every day, for the rest of your life?"_

_Sherlock nodded, feeling the swell of ".......oh."_

 

September 2

**Mycroft**

_ He sat silently behind his newspaper, listening to the argument. Sherlock had been called onto the carpet yet again, standing silently while Mummy and Daddy argued in front of him as if he weren't right there. This time there was a different quality to his silence: Instead of fuming as normally, he seemed oddly tranquil. He seemed almost amused by Mummy and Daddy, and when Gran started in with her scathing comments about his appearance, he simply shook his head and actually chuckled.  _

_ Something had changed. It was as though Sherlock had a new layer of defence, something their parents' attacks were powerless against. It was as though they simply couldn't touch him anymore.  _

_ "Well you ought to know," Sherlock was saying in response to one of Daddy's accusations, "You were my finest tutor in that subject." And Daddy stuttered and went white, then red, his eyes widening fractionally, then narrowing.  _

_ Oho? Now what was that about? _

**Sherlock**

_'To love is to be happy with.' Preposterous sentiment. Ridiculous. It **does** make everything simpler, though. I can see it all so clearly now. My parents love me the way that Mr. Hudson had loved Mrs. Hudson - the way that isn't love at all. It's so simple. I've spent years trying to win the approval of people who'll never, ever give it because what they love is pain. They love me being an addict, they love me being a wreck. They love playing the 'poor poor pitiful we' card and getting sympathy from their friends and they love pitting me against Mycroft the way dogfighters love pitting terriers against each other and it's all so simple! Why hadn't I seen it before? I went to **rehab** for pity's sake, I've lived in shelters! I know the things people can do to their kids while claiming to love them. Why am I so surprised about mine?_

_John said he loves me. Does that mean he's happy with me? He's never even met me, how can he be happy with me? But he's said before, texting me is the high point of his day.... does he mean that? I make him happy? But I'm not even trying! ...I've never made anybody happy before. Have I? What would happen if I **tried** to make him happy? It would probably backfire. I'd probably cock it up. Maybe I shouldn't try. If I make him happy without trying, I probably shouldn't try if I'm doing okay. I should probably just... leave it alone. _

_John wants to date me. I make John happy and he wants to date me. I don't know what to say to that. I said okay. Does that start **my** descent into... **Wait wait wait** , what did he mean about his 'dick-sucking descent into One Direction and designer pea-green cardigans' **what did that even mean??** _

_**OH GOD!** _

_Was that a metaphor? Surely that was just a metaphor, some modern slang turn of phrase.. What if it's not a metaphor? What if he wants to...??? Did he mean that....???? Does he want to.... Do **I** want to..... I don't even know if....  was he wearing an athletic cup in that picture? ......... I suppose it would be allowable to check, now that he's expressed a desire to date me..._

_My parents are abusive twogs and John Watson loves me, wishes to date me and might wish to engage with me sexually. I don't even know if....!!!_

_..... Time to hit Google._

 

September 6

**John**

"There," John said, closing the suitcase, "That's the last of it."

Behind him, Harry nodded. "I'm going to miss you, Johnny."

"I'm going to miss you too, Harry." He hugged his sister for a long time then stepped back and took her shoulders. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" he asked seriously. Da had been drinking again. Still.

Harry nodded. "I've got a place to go and the minister's said I can drop by if it gets too bad."

"Good," John sighed, "I'll send back what I can. **Try** to make sure it goes to rent and food and stuff, yeah? Da's got enough beer as it is."

"I'll try, Johnny. But you know he doesn't listen to me much, any more than he listens to Mum."

"I know," John sighed, "Smack me if I ever start to act like him, alright?"

**Sherlock**

_When Sherlock burst through the door of Speedy's, Mrs. Hudson didn't even ask. She took one look at his face and ushered him out back._

_"He's leaving TODAY!" he blurted._

_"For his training? Oh, Sherlock..."_

_"And he's made me this scavenger hunt and that last stop will be him, I'm certain of it and I'm..."_

_"Scavenger hunt?"_

_"Yes! Look at this, it's brilliant! He's given me puzzles to solve, oh they're likely pathetically simple but still, I went to the coffee house and there's the next puzzle..."_

_"Look at you, all happy," Mrs. Hudson cooed, "He really understands you, doesn't he."_

_" **Yes** and he's," the words caught up to Sherlock and he stumbled, "He's... he's the last stop..."_

_"Sherlock," she cupped his cheek with a gentle smile, "To love is to be happy with."_

_Sherlock stared at her. Then he looked at the next set of directions and bolted out the door._

**Molly**

**"Oh my gosh I'm so excited!!"**

**Mrs. Hudson looked at her, "Do you know what's going on, dear?"**

**"Yes, it's John's plan! He set it all up and made all of the arrangements with all the places and it's so exciting! Do you think he'll make it in time? I've never seen anybody run so fast!!"**

**Mrs. Hudson smiled, "Well, he's chasing after a dream that wants to be caught."**

**Mycroft**

_!!!!!!!!! ....... !!!!!!!! ......... ??????? ... !!!!!!!!! **!!!!!** .......... ??!!? ......... **!!!!!!!** ..... !!!!!!!!!! _

_ "Mycroft, will you shut up? I can't hear him!" _

_ "I can't help it no one's ever done anything like this for him before no one understands him like this **I** don't understand him like this this is perfect it's just so **perfect** I just can't" _

_ "Shut! Up!" _

**Sherlock**

_"Sherlock? Oh sweetheart, what happened?"_

_" I was too late."_

_"Come in, sweetheart. Let me turn the light on, I had just turned in. No, no, it's alright, you sit down. Tell me what happened."_

_" They wouldn't let me onto the platform because I didn't have a ticket."_

_"Was there a queue for the tickets?"_

_He nodded listlessly, " I wouldn't have made it through in time anyways."_

_"Oh, sweetheart..."_

_" And I got there too late."_

_"Sherlock..."_

_" I think I spent too long cuddling the hedgehogs."_

_"One of your assignments was to cuddle hedgehogs?"_

_" Or maybe it was feeding the geese."_

_She cupped his shoulder lightly, "Sherlock, there are so many things that could have held you up -- traffic, pedestrian waits, crowds, queues... There are so many things." He only sighed, clearly blaming himself. "Did you enjoy it? The scavenger hunt?"_

_He felt so lost as he nodded. " I got there too late. I missed him."_

_"Oh, Sherlock..." She pulled her chair next to his and pulled him into her arms. "He'll be back though, right? He's going for training but he'll be back." She carded her fingers lightly through his hair, "And when he comes back, why, you'll know you'll enjoy his company because he's already given you a sneak preview."_

_He looked up at her for a long moment, then let her pull him back down against her shoulder. "When you were in the hospital, they assumed you were my mother. ...... I didn't correct them."_

_She stroked his hair and smiled. "I didn't correct them, either."_


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Fri 12:24pm)  
> You're still the most interesting person I've ever met.
> 
>  
> 
> _(Fri 12:25pm)_  
>  We still haven't met.
> 
>  
> 
> (Fri 12:26pm)  
> Still a minor detail.
> 
>  
> 
> _(Fri 12:26pm)_  
>  Still no minor details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this **has** been approved by Pawtal. Yes, it has been approved to be posted. No, I don't know when she will have her epilogue ready; she's found college to be quite a bit busier than high school :p

_He didn't know how long he stood out there, feeling like his heart was running out of his shoes onto the floor. It was dark when he returned to Mrs. Hudson, later still when he finally went home. Mycroft had been poised to light into him but one look at his little brother's face changed his mind. Instead he went out into the shed and returned with a container of icing, the only comfort he knew how to give._

_John texted when he'd arrived safely at the base, of course. After that, Sherlock didn't hear from him as much, as John was too busy with basic training and entering medical school._

_Christmas approached, bringing its usual dread, so John's sudden text announcement was particularly welcomed. Sherlock was just finishing up a case and would be able to meet John at Waterloo station if he was content to wait for about a half-hour. He approached the Gregg's with a sense of trepidation... then his text alert chimed and brought with it disappointment._

(Fri 12:15pm)  
Hey. Guess who got met at the station & immediately whisked off to fucking Cornwall? 

_(Fri 12:16pm)  
Hey. Guess who just arrived at the Gregg's?_

(Fri 12:18pm)  
Fuck

(Fri 12:18pm)  
Fucking arse buggering shit!

_Fri 12:19pm)  
And tits?_

(Fri 12:19pm)  
AND TITS!

_Sherlock couldn't help but snicker at that. Then he sighed and turned to go back to Baker Street. He rang the bell and was startled to see that Mrs. Hudson had been crying. "Mrs. Hudson?"_

_She tried to answer but broke into weeping again, alarming him further. Finally she managed to gasp out, "It's over."_

_"What? What's over?" he asked, distressed, as he followed her into her kitchen, "What do you mean?" His eyes fell on the letter on the kitchen table._

_"H-Henry was killed in a prison riot," she managed, "It's over. It's finally over. I won't have to worry that he'll escape. I won't have to worry that his convictions will be overturned. I won't have to worry that he'll escape and go after someone." Sherlock heard the silent 'me' in that and opened his arms to let her embrace him. "I won't ever have to worry about him again."_

_He rubbed her back in a way that he hoped was comforting. She seemed to take it so, anyways. But he knew that freedom from fear was the most comforting thing and that, for Mrs. Hudson, this would be the best Christmas present ever._

* * * *

_Was there anything as boring as listening to countless distant relatives cooing over Mycroft's new job in the Department of Transportation? Well.. yes, frankly, yes there was. Besides, it was made tolerable by the secret knowledge that Mycroft's new job title was just a cover for his **real** new job in the MI5. Their relatives cooed and were impressed by Mycroft's successfully attaining a Master's degree in just under a year, but they never seemed to bother asking why nor did Mycroft admit that it was a degree in Homeland Security. _

_Of course, they were being their usual boorish selves towards Sherlock, who wasn't deigning to dignify any of their rude comments with a response and was thus being criticised for being unfriendly. He reached up to stroke the scarf around his neck and quirked an eyebrow when some second cousin or other made a disparaging remark. "It wasn't made for you," was all Sherlock would say about it. **Technically** it hadn't been made for him either, being John's botched attempt at knitting a scarf for his mother, but he'd given it to Sherlock as a peace offering, it had worked, and it just never failed to make Sherlock smile with its ridiculous shape and soft, plush texture. His text alert chimed and his heart leaped to see the moustached macaroon icon, then fell upon reading the text._

(Fri 10:02am)  
Hey! Guess who's coming to London??

_(Fri 10:05am)  
Hey. Guess who got dragged to France?_

(Fri 10:07am)  
Oh come on!

(Fri 10:08am)  
What's happening in France? Any interesting murders?

_(Fri 10:09am)  
Sadly, only an uninteresting funeral. My grandmother finally died._

(Fri 10:10am)  
If it's the one I met, I would dance on her grave with you if I were there.

_That made Sherlock chuckle, right there in the funeral reception hall._

_(Fri 10:11am)  
I wish you were here, she hated you._

_He glanced up at the sound of Mycroft, defending Sherlock's attainment of a Bachelor's degree. He shook his head, disgusted - they were so proud of Mycroft's getting a degree in under a year that they didn't even ask what it was, but when Sherlock pulled off the same trick, they found it so unbelievable that they scoffed and grilled Mycroft to the core about it. They couldn't be bothered asking **Sherlock** , of course. He ground his teeth, wishing he could just hop the Chunnel back to London. He could think of a thousand better ways to spend Easter and they all involved John. _

_(Fri 10:11am)  
Fornicating maternal donkeys and excrement._

(Fri 10:12am)  
And mammary glands!

_(Fri 10:12am)  
And tits, right._

* * * *

_"I thought you weren't allowed to call?"_

_"I'm at the police station. The case is a success. Dr. Daniels was right and there is an extensive cover-up operation. Well, I say 'is'..."_

_"Congratulations. Excellent news indeed. John called before Christmas. He saw on the news about Daddy's conviction and incarceration and wondered if you were alright."_

_"What did you tell him?"_

_"That you were working a case at Dr. Daniel's request, at the facility he's working at now, and that I had your phone for safekeeping while you were in the no-contact period."_

_"Did he say anything else?"_

_"Only that he's sorry that he missed you yet again and that he hopes you had a better Christmas than he did. I said that, given you were working a case, you almost assuredly were."_

_"He had a bad Christmas? Why? What happened?"_

_"He said something about wishing he could 'pack off some of his relatives', I believe is how he phrased it."_

_"I could pack off some of mine. They have an out-patient program for eating disorders. You're in the shed again, aren't you. Mummy's been taking it out on you. Your voice is rasping, she's been badgering you about getting a girlfriend, again. I can practically smell the frosting from here. And the vomit."_

_"......"_

_"..."_

_"...... I'll consider it."_

* * * *

_That was it. That was the last of it. He snapped the lid closed on the Stradivarius, picked it up and his laptop, and turned to leave._

_"I'll miss you," Mycroft said from the doorway. A muscle in Sherlock's cheek twitched but he said nothing. "But I'm happy for you."_

_Sherlock glanced at him. Mycroft had dropped at least another stone after leaving the program and, like Sherlock, had substituted his work. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft took after Daddy in a lot of ways and, coupled with his phenominal memory, was now slowly but steadily building a power base that was already impressive. One day, he'd be outright scary. "You'll have to tell me," he said, "How Mummy takes it, when she learns that I've left before she could throw me out."_

_Mycroft smirked mirthlessly, "You know she wouldn't do that."_

_Sherlock smirked as well, "Yes, because she likes having me around to pick on." Mycroft didn't dispute that; ever since that January two years ago, he'd changed his tune about Sherlock. "Which means she'll start picking on you, now."_

_"She already has been," Mycroft shrugged, "But she doesn't get much of a chance. I've been doing some side work for MI6; the extra hours keep me away." Sherlock nodded. "Is John coming back this weekend?"_

_Sherlock shrugged and took out his mobile._

_(Fri 11:30am)  
Are you arriving in London?_

(Fri 11:30am)  
Are you Sherlock?

_(Fri 11:31am)  
Yes. Who is this? Where's John?_

(Fri 11:32am)  
This is Captain Jefferson, John's C.O. I must ask you to confirm your identity before I can release any personal information. What is the correct response, please, to 'pancakes'?

_(Fri 11:32am)  
What? It's 'crepes.' What's happened to John?_

(Fri 11:33am)  
John is in A&E having his leg set in a cast. He won't be home for Easter.

_"I guess that's a 'no,'" Mycroft said, "'Pancakes?'"_

_Sherlock shook his head, "Long story."_

_"One I shall look forward to hearing, some day," Mycroft replied. They watched as the battered old pick-up rounded the corner and rolled to a stop._

_"Hey," Connor said, "Ready to go?"_

_Sherlock nodded and loaded his laptop and violin case into the cab, then he turned to look back at his big brother. Neither of them were any good at this. The awkward attempt at a handshake turned into an awkward attempt at a hug. As the truck drove away, Sherlock reflected that he hadn't hugged his brother since their great-aunt died._

* * * *

_It was a dark and stormy night, with rain blown almost horizontal by a fierce gale. The lights were off but the fire crackled merrily in the grate. Sherlock lay on his fifth-hand couch, fingers tented beneath his chin, listening to the rain. The flatmate situation had worked about as well as he'd anticipated before they were all scattered to the winds by arrests and opportunities, but it had lasted long enough for Sherlock to get on his feet. Now he had a flat of his own (if a one-room garret with a barely-a-kitchenette and shared bathroom downstairs counted as a flat) in London (barely) and enough boring casework to support himself (again, barely, but 'barely' still counted.) Greg, now a constable, kept him from being totally bored by sneaking him tidbits of interesting cases. This was resulting in Greg becoming something of a rising star in the Met, something which bothered Sherlock not at all._

_He heard the stairway creak outside, announcing that either he or his neighbor was about to have a visitor. Me, he thought, listening to how the footsteps mounted more towards his side of the floor. He got up, flicked on a lamp and put the kettle on, and was crossing to the door in time for the polite knock._

_Too polite, he realised. His phone was on and he checked it quickly, confirming that he hadn't missed a text. There's a problem. He opened the door. Mycroft stood there, soaked through with rain that was driven by wind too strong for his umbrella. Sherlock stepped aside and put the folding chair he kept for clients beside the fire. "She found out?" he asked as Mycroft hung up his sopping coat. Mycroft nodded silently and sank into the chair. Sherlock passed him a towel then poured tea and sat on the couch._

_They sipped in silence until Mycroft couldn't contain himself any longer, "Please tell me that is not an **actual human skull** sitting on your fireplace mantle?"_

_Sherlock chuckled, "It is. Mrs. Hudson gave it to me last Christmas. It's her husband's."_

_"She gave you her late husband's **skull**?? What on earth for?"_

_"Because I ensured that he was late," Sherlock smirked, "I assumed she wishes me to safeguard him from turning into a vampire and coming back to haunt her or some such thing. I've no idea, but I quite like it. It's sort of like a trophy. He was my first full-on serial killer, you know -- twelve women and seven men in the United States alone, and that's only what they could confirm." Thankfully for Mycroft, that was when Sherlock's phone rang._

_"Hello, Mummy," he said with a quick glance at Mycroft, "Yes. No. No. Yes. Christmas dinner? - No, I won't. No. No. Because the only reason you're asking me is because you've kicked Mycroft out for being gay. **Yes.** Can't have your perfect little heir being queer and upsetting the whole succession plan, now can we? Oh please, Mummy. Oh yes? - Let's hear it then. Really. Is that so. Mm-hmm? Well, that could be because I **don't** believe a word of it. Really? Really? Well, then. Alright. Well, I still can't come to Christmas dinner because I'm visiting my boyfriend who's on Christmas break from the army. **That's right.** " Sherlock broke into mirthless laughter as the call was abruptly disconnected. "'Oh, come home for Christmas dinner, Sherlock, all is forgiven, Mummy just wants to see her little boy all grown up.'" _

_Mycroft's lip twisted as the implications sunk in. "So now that I'm the flawed one, she's trying to replace me with you."_

_"Except I'm just as flawed," Sherlock snickered, "Well, now she's out both of us. I do hope she's happy with herself." He chuckled and waved a hand at the bed in the corner, "You can have my bed; I hardly ever use it."_

_"Thank you," Mycroft whispered, "It shouldn't take me long to find a flat of my own."_

_"Probably for the best," Sherlock nodded, "I'm told I'm a terrible flatmate."_

_Mycroft chose not to respond - his little brother had taken him in and was giving him leave to stay until he could set himself up, despite their rocky histories. Instead, he went to change into some dry pyjamas then came back. Sherlock budged over on the couch and, after a moment's hesitation, Mycroft sat down beside him. "'Boyfriend?'" he asked._

_Sherlock snickered, "Yes, I suppose that is jumping the gun a bit. John asked to date me and I said yes but I'm not sure he quite got that. Granted, it was four in the morning, I'm not sure **I** quite got that. Then the army interfered."_

_Mycroft dared a small grin, "I wonder what he would think about being referred to as your 'boyfriend.'"_

_Sherlock pulled out his mobile, "Let's find out."_

_(Thurs 10:13pm)  
I might have referred to you as my boyfriend, mainly to anger my homophobic mother._

(Thurs 10:15pm)  
OMG I'm your boyfriend!!!

_(Thurs 10:16pm)  
You're not upset?_

(Thurs 10:16pm)  
Hell no, I'm ecstatic!!!!!

_(Thurs 10:17pm)  
You're also using too many exclamation points._

(Thurs 10:17pm)  
Piss off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Thurs 10:18pm)  
Although that puts a slight damper on my Christmas.

_(Thurs 10:19pm)  
Being my boyfriend is a damper? _

_(Thurs 10:19pm)  
I think most people would agree with that._

(Thurs 10:20pm)  
Shut up, that's not what I meant. And most people can piss off, they don't know you the way that I do.

_(Thurs 10:21pm)  
Unarguable._

(Thurs 10:22pm)  
I meant that I won't be coming to London for Christmas. I'm being sent up to Aberdeen for a MEDICAL CONFERENCE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Thurs 10:22pm)  
I have a boyfriend and a medical conference!!!!

(Thurs 10:23pm)  
I can't see my boyfriend because of my medical conference.

(Thurs 10:24pm)  
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckettyfuckeringbuggering shit

(Thurs 10:25pm)  
AND TITS!  
 _(Thurs 10:25pm)  
And tits._

_(Thurs 10:25pm)  
Have you reached your goal, then?_

(Thurs 10:26pm)  
Very close!!!!!!

_(Thurs 10:27pm)  
Phone me when you have. Enjoy your conference, almost-Doctor Watson._

(Thurs 10:27pm)  
I will, my boyfriend the detective!!!!

(Thurs 10:28pm)  
;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

_"I think that may have been a mistake," Sherlock chuckled, "I'm afraid the fridge is rather small and the oven certainly won't fit a goose, but I'm sure we can manage."_

_In the end, they wound up accepting Mrs. Hudson's invitation and despite their bickering, it was the best Christmas dinner Sherlock had had in a very, very long time._

* * * *

"Fuck, I just... Only two months ago, she seemed fine!"

Sherlock nodded, "Ovarian cancer can kill swiftly."

"Now she's... and right before Easter, too."

"Do you think if we wait three days...?"

"Oh god, Sherlock...!!! But keep your voice down, we can't giggle at a funeral!"

"You know **she** wouldn't object."

"Yeah, I know. Christ, I can't believe Enty's dead."

"Neither can I."

"Jesus... Here, Christ, look at us, a couple of big crybabies..."

"I don't know why. I wasn't this affected when my father died. She wasn't even a relative."

Greg gaped, "Your dad died?! When?"

"In January. He had a stroke in his cell."

"Shit I'm sorry! You never told me."

"Didn't I? I suppose it didn't seem important."

"Your dad died and it didn't seem important?!"

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm wrong, I'm fucked up, I'm cold and heartless, I've heard it all already a thousand times over," Sherlock huffed. 

"Mycroft didn't tell me, either," Greg said. Sherlock's text alert sounded and he glanced over in time to see... "Ha! I know that smile! That's John, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded then his smile faded to a concerned frown, "He's also going to a funeral. His father has also died."

"Ooooh. Welcome to the Dead Dads Club, John," Greg nodded in sympathy, "What happened, does he say?" Sherlock didn't answer but turned the phone to let him see.

(Fri 12:08pm)  
Cirrhosis of the liver followed by renal failure. Basically, he drank himself to death.

_(Fri 12:08pm)  
I see._

(Fri 12:09pm)  
Every fucking penny I sent home for bills and rent and suchlike, he spent it all on booze. Every. Fucking. Penny. It was supposed to go to support Mum and Harry and he fucking drank it all away.

_(Fri 12:10pm)  
I'm sorry to hear it._

"What a fucking arsehole," Greg said, "Although, ah, you probably shouldn't tell him I said that."

_(Fri 12:11pm)  
Greg offers his condolences._

(Fri 12:12pm)  
Tell him thanks. And tell him to send me his phone number, the one I've got's bouncing.

(Fri 12:13pm)  
I can't help it, I just feel so angry. I should feel sad, it's my Da, but I just feel angry.

_(Fri 12:14pm)  
That's more than I felt. Mycroft and I didn't feel anything._

(Fri 12:15pm)  
I know. I'm not judging you. I can't. I should be sad but instead I just want to rip open that lid and scream at him.

_(Fri 12:15pm)  
I just felt relieved._

(Fri 12:16pm)  
Tell you what, you shed a tear for my da and I'll shed a tear for yours, alright?

_(Fri 12:17pm)  
My father was a lying, mentally abusive, homophobic, adultering, embezzling crook and thanks to his criminal activities, I can never follow my great-aunt's career. He doesn't deserve any tears._

"You're chuckling, what's he saying?"

"He's offering to shed a tear for Detective Inspector Entwistle instead."

Greg nodded, "I'd say that's appropriate. She sponsored me into the detective program and taught us both a lot. She had a lot to say about the Met's policy of holding the sins of family members against recruits, you know. She had you in mind when she said that. She doesn't think it's fair that you can't hire on because of your dad's crimes. Didn't. Oh god..."

_(Fri 12:20pm)  
I wish I knew how to comfort you._

(Fri 12:21pm)  
You just did. 

(Fri 12:22pm)  
You're the best friend I've ever had, you know that? 

(Fri 12:22pm)  
And the best boyfriend. 

_(Fri 12:23pm)  
You've had other boyfriends?_

(Fri 12:24pm)  
Best significant other, then. And still the most interesting person I've ever met. 

_(Fri 12:25pm)  
We still haven't met._

(Fri 12:26pm)  
Still a minor detail. 

_(Fri 12:26pm)  
Still no minor details._

"C'mon, what's he saying to make you smile like that?" Greg teased, "I could use a pick-me-up." He grinned when he read Sherlock's mobile. "Boyfriend? Oh my god! Really??"

"I mostly said it to piss off Mummy after Mycroft left," Sherlock chuckled, "John was rather more enthusiastic about it."

"How is Mycroft, anyways? I haven't heard from him much since he moved into his flat in Pall Mall."

"No, you haven't heard from him since you started dating Caroline."

"What would that have to do with it?" Greg asked but Sherlock's mobile chimed again.

(Fri 12:47pm)  
Thanks. I feel a bit better now. 

_(Fri 12:48pm)  
Strangely enough, so do I._

* * * * 

(Thurs 4:47pm)  
Guess what? I'm coming home this month. You'll never believe what my arrival date is! 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was whole once and it flew beautifully, but the wind grew too strong for it. It couldn't take the strain any more and it broke apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite done yet. Yes, there is an epilogue coming. 
> 
> Also, [the tea is real.](http://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=59894) Many thanks to Breanna K. for creating it ^__^

Two weeks later...

_"Hey, boy! Whooza good boy?"_

_The dog stared at John warily and John grinned. He bent at the waist, knowing better than to crouch and put his face into the animal's vicinity. He drew his hand out of his jacket and the dog started to growl, then barked fiercely. John put his hand back into his pocket but his smile didn't change._

_When people looked at this dog, they saw only that it was a pitbull and assumed that it was vicious. But John had learned to read the dog and saw that it was ferocious from fear. It barked and lunged and bared its teeth at anyone who tried to come close. It had known only abuse for its whole life. It didn't trust humans any more._

_So every day, John brought the kite to work on. He sat nearby, close enough for the dog to approach should it want to. A couple of times, it got close enough to sniff at John, only to back up and snarl when John turned his head to look at it. But John never stopped smiling, never stopped speaking in a friendly voice, never stopped offering his hand._

_The dog had lunged and bitten him on a couple of occasions, but John knew the pitbull's strength and the bites hadn't broken skin. He had been given only warnings. So he heeded the warnings and backed off to sit nearby and work on the kite he was fixing._

_The dog came closer to watch him. "I'm fixing it," he told the dog, "When I found it, it was all smashed up, like people had thrown it around and stomped all over it. I'm putting it back together." The dog looked sceptical. "Just you wait, I'll make it fly again. Maybe not good as new, but it'll get along alright."_

_The dog gazed at him. After a while, it lay down next to him. Gently, telegraphing his movement, John lay his hand on the dog's head and rubbed its ear. It thumped its tail a few times then growled lowly. John took his hand away and the dog stopped growling and didn't leave. A few moments later, it tipped its head to lick his hand._

_This dog would never be like Rocky, he knew. It was simply too damaged, it had too much fear. It would never trust people fully. But with time and patience and respect and caring, it had come to trust him. It had come to love him._

John snapped awake, gasping. He stared at the unfamiliar surroundings, panting - barracks, right. Camp Bastion, right. Afghanistan. Right. 

He sagged back on his bunk and tried to make sense of his dream. It left him thinking of Sherlock, for some reason. They'd had only a week together, during which they'd packed in as much of themselves as they could. A week spent with Sherlock, making him smile with the lips that John just could not stop kissing, making him laugh with the low rich chuckle that sent flames down John's nerves. It was the most incredible week of John's life. It was the week in which he knew, this is the one. 

It wasn't fair he had leave his one so soon.

 

Five years later....

_Noise. Confusion. Todd's down. Hands slick, slippery, sliding, can't get a grip. Barry, you're blocking the light. Holding the scalpel, cutting in. Barry standing over us, blocking the light. Barry, **move** , dammit, you're blocking the light! Looking up in time to see_

_**(Mon 3:33pm SH)  
on Christmas Eve my Aunt Eliza took me out shopping. We were walking down Great Portland Street when she was shot.** _

_in time to know._

_Watching Barry's body collapse beside a small boy with a headful of dark fluffy curls who stared in the direction of the bullet's path, committing every detail to memory._

_Looking down at Todd's body, still and growing pale. His hands, useless, slick with the blood of everyone he couldn't save._

_A pitbull lay down beside him and put its head in his blood-stained lap. Its tail thumped the ground._

John woke to the sound of his own heart, thumping in his ears. He thought of the little boy in his dream. He thought of the quiet man the boy had become. He thought of the camp's councillor telling him, "Those who speak, don't know. Those who know, don't speak." 

He lay panting in bed, because he knew and couldn't speak.

 

One year later...

_Sherlock was repairing a broken kite. There was sweet violin music and John looked around but was unable to pinpoint the source. He got up out of his basket and went to sit beside Sherlock, wondering what the man he loved was doing._

_"It was whole once and it flew beautifully," Sherlock explained, "But the wind grew too strong for it. It couldn't take the strain any more and it broke apart." He smiled at John and reached down to pat his head and rub his ears, "I'm fixing it."_

_John whimpered and looked away but Sherlock rubbed his head once more. "Don't worry, I know how to fix it. I learned from the best," Sherlock said and smiled at him, "I learned from you."_

_John put his head in Sherlock's lap and watched the delicate kite reforming under Sherlock's careful hands. It would never fly the same way and would always be somewhat fragile. But he wagged his tail a few times, confident that his love could make it fly again._

John gasped awake. He turned onto his back and swallowed a few times, trying to moisten his dry throat. His racing heart slowed and the pounding in his ears faded until he could make out the strains of Sherlock's violin downstairs. He always seemed to wake up to that damned thing playing. Or was it the other way around?

Usually he would lie back in his bed and listen to the violin singing until it soothed him back to sleep. This time though... This time, he **needed** to see Sherlock, even if it cost him. He stumbled down the stairs on the pretext of getting some tea. 

"John?" He looked up to see Sherlock gazing at him with undisguised concern.

"Just......" John cleared his throat, "Had a nightmare."

"I know. But you usually go back to sleep after."

"I know, I... just needed some tea, that's all." But a glance at Sherlock's face showed that the other man had understood John's unspoken _I needed you._

John turned away and reached for the tea. It was one of Sherlock's blends and it was so much like him - strong and opulent and so firmly, comfortingly _there._ He settled himself in his armchair and drew the blanket around himself. Sherlock said nothing but tucked the violin back under his chin. John closed his eyes and listened to the music. 

"I can't do this," John whispered.

Sherlock stopped playing and looked around, "Can't do what?"

"Live with you," John whispered. He couldn't meet Sherlock's gaze. His eyes fell on the lumpy old scarf, now matted and pilling, tucked lovingly around the skull on the mantel above the fireplace. 221b Baker Street had felt like home the moment he'd crossed the threshold. It made it that much harder. "I'm sorry, this was a bad idea."

Sherlock's heart plummeted into his stomach. "Why?" his voice sounded uncontrollably plaintive, "Is it the head? If it's the head, surely we can.."

"No, no, it's not the head," John said and he had to laugh because oh my god, there was a **head** a _human_ **head** in the refrigerator and John thought _he_ was the abnormal one, "It's not that, it's... it's **me**..." Sherlock was looking at him with that inscrutable expression. "It's... I'm... not the same, Sherlock... I'm.. the macarons and the horses and the pancakes.."

"Crepes," Sherlock said automatically. 

John shot him a watery look. "...Yes, that," he said wearily, "That's all.... gone, now. I don't know where it went... but..."

"It's been replaced by noticing details at crime scenes, determining causes of death with a glance, and having the wit to photograph erasable evidence," Sherlock said briskly, "I really don't see what the problem is."

John stared at him for a second, wavering. He tried again, "It's just.. I'm... I'm not... fun, any more, I guess...."

"'Welcome to London,'" Sherlock countered, "You were having fun then. You were laughing and said it was the most ridiculous thing you had ever done."

"Which it was."

"Well?"

"...Yes, alright," John conceded, "That **was** fun, but it's not..."

"Normal?" Sherlock cut in. He shook his head, "You were _never_ 'normal', John, or you would never have stayed being my friend. When were we _ever_ 'normal?'" 

John had nothing to say to that; that part was true. "You deserve someone who can..."

Sherlock set the violin down. "I deserve **you,** " he said firmly and started counting off on his fingers, "I don't sleep, so your nightmares don't disturb me. Your background in combat medicine gives you a perspective of crime scenes that the police necessarily lack, so that you put all of their forensics experts to shame. You are able to give me prompt medical attention without unnecessary grief because treating my injuries is little different from treating a soldier, who's job is to get hurt again. You're physician, surgeon, nurse and physiotherapist all wrapped up in one woolly jumper. You are resourceful and adaptable, you're used to sleeping and eating by opportunity rather than by the clock and you often send my thoughts in new directions that have proven invaluable in solving cases, don't you see, John??" Sherlock turned and John swallowed when he saw Sherlock's expression. He took John's hands and pulled him up to stand close to him, "Of course you've changed - You're better than ever!" 

John looked away, blinking furiously against the tears that wanted to spill over. Sherlock took John's face between his hands and kissed him. "You're the ideal partner, John," he whispered and set his forehead against John's, "You're perfect."


	26. And Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things...

"Thank you all for coming. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Greg Lestrade, formerly Detective Chief Superintendent of New Scotland Yard, retired. I've known Sherlock and John since we were all teenagers together. By the by, the music is by Philip Glass. Sherlock used to play it at night after John came back from Afghanistan, said it helped with John's nightmares. We thought it was fitting. 

I admit, this is a bit of a shock, not that it happened but how it happened. You see, I got the call from John. He'd gone out to shovel the walks after that big snow storm. Sherlock, he'd said, had been feeling a bit poorly and gone to lie on the couch and think about his plans for the new hives in the summer. And that's how John found him, when he came back an hour later - fingers steepled under his chin as he always was when he was thinking, looking like he had simply fallen asleep. 

So, I gathered my things and I made the drive out to the cottage in Essex, perhaps a thirty minute drive. There was no answer when I knocked at the door so I let myself in. And there was John on the couch, snuggled up beside Sherlock. The coroner says it was a heart attack, likely brought on by the snow shovelling, but those of us who knew them, we know better. John likely felt it coming on, for he lay down on the couch beside his husband, just as they were in life, just as they are now inside that casket. Just as they'll be for all time. For who could part them? Throughout their lives, time and cirumstances could separate them but nothing could tear them apart. They always found a way back to each other. Never have two people been more devoted to each other, and never have two people understood one another so completely.

The story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson is surely one of the greatest love stories of our time, and it's a story I was privileged to witness from the beginning. It all began with a finger slip..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elements of this story are being incorporated into the webseries of _A Finger Slip._ It would make my life to see my plotbunnies come to life ^_^
> 
> Thank you for enjoying my plotbunnies. Thank you, Pawtal, for letting them breed. And for those of you who were helped by Chapter 12, you're doing great, you're not alone, and we're all hanging in together. Big hugs. 
> 
> Love you all,  
> -==- Katzedecimal


End file.
